


Journey into the Wizarding World

by TFALokiwriter



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abused Harry Potter, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Black Hermione Granger, Character(s) of Color, Coronavirus (mentioned), Foreshadowing, Gen, Hogwarts, Hogwarts First Year, Indian Harry Potter, Muslim Character, POV First Person, Sirius Black Never Went to Azkaban, Squibs, Unfortunate Implications, Wizards, hints - Freeform, some Dumbledore bashing, unusual
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-30
Updated: 2020-06-22
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:28:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 33,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24423520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TFALokiwriter/pseuds/TFALokiwriter
Summary: Imagine awakening in a world where you are slightly familiar to it but haven't watched the source material in almost a decade and your loved ones are alive and well but the future is all too certain of what is ahead. Join Robert's journey through into the Wizarding World as he sets up his rules and foggy memory of what has to be not be done to avoid becoming involved in the events that lead up to the second Wizarding War.
Kudos: 3





	1. Hogwarts letter day

Out of the dark comes a light and the sound of high pitch wailing belonging to the hospital equipment was replaced by a loud alarm clock. I stretched a arm out to hit the source of the noise as a old habit that hadn't faded away with time and familiarity to my iphone only instead my hand landed on the edge of the counter rather than a phone. My hand landed on a surface that felt hard and rough at some points that had a wooden texture. . . Which was odd. My hand was supposed to have hit the medical equipment alongside my medical bed, like say, a pole or a life detector monitor. My eyes slowly opened but were quickly stung by the light pouring in through the window.

"Robert wake up, it's your eleventh birthday! Today is the day you get your Hogwarts letter!"

I bolted up with my eyes flashing open.

"Daddy?" I asked.

There he was, unharmed, alive, and well standing at the doorway to my bedroom with dad by his side--No ventilator in his throat, his figure not thin, and his skin not as pale as I had recalled. The same applied to daddy's husband, who was smiling, alive and well, his hair not quite grayed. They were smiling back at me as I stumbled out of bed and crashed into them into a hug.

"Robbie, what is wrong?" Daddy asked.

"Just because you're getting your letter today doesn't mean your world with us gets to end." Dad said with a laugh.

"Johnny is right, you can always spend the holidays with us." Daddy said.

I was sobbing as they embraced me into my hug.

"Oh look, our little adopted boy is just sad that he has to leave his parents for Hogwarts." Dad assumed out loud. "He must be. . ."

"Do you like being part of our family?" Daddy asked.

I sniffled, nodding, being plagued by feelings I had only felt at their funeral that was livestreamed only a few days ago.

"We did get through to him, Charles." Dad said.

"We love you, Robert." Daddy said as he and Dad hugged me in unison.

It was the most heartwrenching thing to be hugged by people who were so vulnerable to a deadly virus to be so alive and well, healthy, blissfully acting as if nothing had happened last week. I could feel my heart coming back together piece by piece with help from super glue that was made of gold that made it all the more perfect with the imperfections and its value increased. I sniffled, leaning back out of the hug, then used my sleeve to clean off the snot then looked up toward the two men I had condemned with disobeying my personal set of common sense rules.

"I love you too, daddy, dad."

I realized my voice wasn't deep but now high pitched. They looked just the way that I remembered them over thirty years ago when I was ten years old, right when I had been brought to their house after the finer parts of the adoption had been seen to through. Right after they had claimed to a Muslim child being evacuated from a place that I don't remember much at all just the details of empty stores, bullets riddling the houses, blood, dust, screaming---I have forgotten the circumstance behind my previous parents. My friends claim I have suppressed that memory. 

I was a kid, again. And they were alive. So utterly alive to my finger tips with warmth, pink skin, and laughter lines that had once sported them. But, Hogwarts? I don't really think Allah would have allowed heaven to be this way. What kind of spiritual retreat would involve watching a entire world --- no, a orphan --- be the subject of a dozen tragedies over the other? Watching the world around him choke to war and lose the appealing nature to it.

Allah had better places and I hadn't done a evil act in my life. Jahannam didn't deserve me but Jannah Lit did for being kind, the best version of myself that I could be, and praying to Allah five times a day. But, they were here. So it couldn't be Jahannam but only Jannah Lit. I didn't understand but I was going to _try_ to understand what kind of afterlife that Allah had dropped me into.

"We will love you all the way to Hogwarts, Robbie." Daddy said.

"Hogwarts?" I asked.

"Hogwarts, Robbie. You should be getting your letter this afternoon."

"By Owl."

"Ww-w-w-w-wh--what year is it?"

"1991."

My eyes rolled back and I fainted with a heap into the night.

* * *

I came to sitting on the edge of my bed and a set of clothing waiting for me beside me with a little white block that read 'BREAKFAST IS SOON'. I picked up my clump of clothing then went into the bathroom but before tripping over my misplaced prayer blanket with a yelp and a toy fire truck. I crashed loudly then grumbled, "Allah is testing me, surely!" and made my march to the bathroom then closed the door behind me. The bathroom was exactly how I remembered it in my childhood from top to bottom from side to side. Even the titles--except the titles had moving figures that resembles birds flying about instead of painted birds soaring over a beach and resting about.

It was purely innocent and cool in many ways, magical, the way that the Wizarding World was supposed to be. I smiled staring at the wall and felt some tears come to then wiped them off. I slid out of my pajamas and tossed them to the ground alongside me. I hopped into the shower, did my usual routine with speed, singing loudly to the tune of In Quarantine. My usually deep voice that echoed with some brass failed to have the same impact as it came out as a high pitch screech. I had forgotten how much of a singer that I was at the age of eleven. I hopped out of the shower, dried off, changed into my morning clothing, brushed my teeth with some difficulty.

I wasn't quite used to using a familiar non-electric tooth brush as the brush almost stung at first but I preserved against it and aggressively brushed my teeth. Nobody said that a Muslim Wizard out of time had to be diligent in becoming refamiliar to old habits in a time that had long passed and lived in for ten years of his life. Not the life that a tech savy forty-one year old belonged in. 

I felt old in a young body and that felt quite strange. Strange to have short arms, long legs, a large head with small ears, and a belly that was growling more than it had in a very long time. I picked up my clump of clothing then whistled as I trotted out of the bathroom, skipped down the steps with a whistle, as my parents looked at me quite strangely.

"Robbie. . ."

"Yeah?"

"What is this virus that you were singing about?"

"Oh, Covid-19?"

"Yes."

"It is just something I dreamed about."

"Dreamed about?"

"Yeah, it was horrible. I died in it. It was so vividly real."

My dad and daddy lost their tension as they started to smile.

"Your letter should be coming in little more than a hour."

I sat down at the table joining them in the beginning of the meal. Dad slid in a casette tape into the television set that was set on the kitchen counter and there began the advertisements. I stared at the bulky large box shaped device. It had been been a mere decade since I had last seen the set at a hospital waiting room or any waiting room for that matter that was replaced recently by the rectangle television set where everything was generic and bright compared to what was a box that just showed a view of a story within a square box with color that wasn't highly remastered.

Even though it was in living color, it wasn't in living color just quite yet. I mulled this all over as I ate my meal with my parents then heard a gentle hoot hoot and a flutter of wings. A owl came to the adjacent window with a letter tucked inside one of its talons. Daddy was the first of them to prop up to his feet then go to the door as dad and I held our breaths.

"False alarm, this is just a letter from a friend of mine."

"Hogwarts letters come in the mail by owl."

"Course they do! Not by owl through window! They owl them to whatever the wizards get their mail in. Like say, a mailbox."

 **Rule one,** don't mention the internet.

"Course, darling."

 **Rule 2;** don't mention about email replacing physical letters.

"Mail will be in quite soon."

 **Rule 3;** don't remotely mention how the method of Hogwarts letters may change in the foreseeable future because Wizards and Witches will ask me questions when the 2010's come.

* * *

"It's here." Dad said.

I looked at daddy and dad in alarm.

"How do you know?" I asked as Daddy went to the tv then pressed a button and the events that transpired on the television set went backwards.

"Hogwarts letters come at eight, Robbie." Daddy said. "Normally."

The thought of holding my very first Wizardly letter tugged at heart strings that I hadn't thought were there. Heart strings that I had only reserved for the saddest of sorrow, such as John Wick's dog Daisy crawling to his side and dying there beside his unconscious figure, such as Blade losing the love of his life in his arms as the sun raised, such as Bilbo leaving with Gandalf on one final journey, such as Old Yeller dying, such as the dying words of a rover by the name of Curiosity, such as the death of Steve Irwin, such as the homage from the Addams Family cartoon movie that showed a hundred years after their conception their healthy, accepting, loving but quite weird family were the same people that I had known growing up--speaking of which.

"Does the Addams Family come out this year?" I asked.

"They do." Dad said. "They do."

"Can we watch The Classic Addams Family after we get my letter?" I asked, once more.

"Sure, Robert." Dad said as he began to grin.

I grinned the hardest that I ever had-- that felt so long ago, the virus came in and neutralized my social life and carried dread in its purest forms in a apartment flat --- that made me feel quite young for a moment.

"Thank you for the hardy breakfast, daddy, dad."

I sped out of my chair then made a bolt for the front door and crashed against it with a loud smack then fell back with a thud. I popped to my feet then swung the door open with a loud thud as my heart was racing in my ear and the idea of my personal adventure going on while Harry Potter grew up following his destiny and getting a certain Hero Complex tallied upon him year by year that passed.

My personal adventure that was made of studying, being stubborn, avoiding Harry Potter's storyline, and being kind following my personal set of rules on welding magic and seeing creatures that were deemed fantasy. My feet were moving as these thoughts crashed upon my mind staring at the owl that rested on the mail box.

 **Rule 4;** avoid Harry Potter's group.

" _Mail's in_ ", I could hear Morticia Addam's voice announce in my ears, the sound of Thing creaking open the lid, and paper being shuffled out of the envelope--Wait, could there be a distinctive possibility that there exists a THING in Harry Potter? The Thing! The THING Addams? I mean, Thing was weird and the feat of magic. But Cloverfield Paradox makes it seem that Thing wasn't a feat of magic but a feat of science.

I was engrossed in my thoughts when I hit the mailbox and landed with a thud to the ground. I heard the laughter of my parents loudly behind me, cackling, hollering, the giggling, the full nine yards. They were weird but that's my kind of weird. I started to laugh as I slid myself up and laughed. I rubbed my forehead then looked on toward the owl and slid my hand into my pocket seeking for a iphone--only I felt something else. I turned toward my parents and they beckoned me on. They always had my back; no matter which life.

I turned my attention away then took out the rounded small material and held my hand out for the owl to have. The owl tilted their head at me with small hoots then reached a claw out and waved the letter in its beak. I smiled, reaching my hand out for the envelope, slightly whispering, "Trade?" while praying to myself: _For Allah's sake, don't be a creepy Jumanji bird._ I recalled how Aslan from Narnia regarded the strange people of Narnia as that of people despite being animals and how they were like people. I must look terrified, tense, and afraid. I gulped down my fear of being attacked by the creature and waited for the owl to make the first move.

The owl clumped on to the handful of treats with a long talon then with no resistance at all, I yanked the Hogwarts letter out of the beak. I turned around then carefully began to slip the envelope open with my long pinkie finger then shifted the folded letter out of the envelope setting it on the post alongside me. With care, I opened the letter and discovered to my great horror; it were all in cursive.

"Ah! I CAN'T READ MY LETTER! IT'S ALL IN CURSIVE!"

My parents were cackling loudly as I fell down to my knees.

"MY WEAKNESS! MY GREAT WEAKNESS!" I shook my fists at the sky. "Why does Allah hate me so? MY WEAAAAKNESS!!! MY UUUUUUUUUUUUUUUULLTTIIIMAAAAAATE WEAAAAAAAAAAAAAKNESSSSSSSSSSSS!"

My parents were now silently laughing as they leaned against the door frame of the house.

"WhyYYYYYYYYYY Allah! Whhhhhhhhhhhhhyy?"

What did I do that deserved this amazing moment in my life? This poetic justice? The cinema? The tragedy?

"Robbie," Daddy said as he approached me with his face red and tears were still coming down his face as he was almost out of breath. "I---" 

Daddy paused, his hands on his knees, with a silent laugh as I stared up toward him watching him fall back on to the pavement then smack his hands on the ground being wrecked by laughter.

"I'll read it, Robert." Dad said.

Dad took the letter from me.

_Robert Noori_

_The room in the tower of the cottage._

_78947 C, Old Drive._

_Maryweather, Scotland._

"Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardly." Dad began. "Headmaster; Albus Dumbledore."

I was hit by a memory of the last film featuring Snape and the headmaster. The very few minutes where I lost my respect and admiration for the wizard I once compared to Gandalf and started to respect Snape a little more than I had in over a decade. I remembered with such sharp memory how Dumbledore referred to Harry. The very few minutes that stunned me and hurt as I realized what Dumbledore had been doing to the boy his entire life; Harry was manipulated and groomed to be someone who would lay down their life. He wasn't given a choice. It was thrust on him as a child for Allah's sake!

I remembered all the scenes before that of Dumbledore speaking at Sirius Black's trial and sending him to Azkaban where he spent the next twelve years and became a literal gif about _waiting_. I could feel myself trembling as my hands curled into fists. A man had made a mistake and he let the professor send him away to Azkaban for certain Death to relive the worst moments of his life over and over and over -- a innocent man--- mad with grief, despair, and regret losing all the good memories to the Dementors. My sorrow at being unable to read the letter faded as I fought for my control to surface over the tranquil rage and forced myself to become composed.

My fury was at a man who made a child into a martyr and took away what family that would make it easier for the war to be seen through. He alone allowed Sirius to go down that path and he had sent him down that path by injecting doubt into the minds of the Potters, I wouldn't be surprised about that, about him being the secret keeper or Remus being the secret keeper. _The Prisoner of Azkaban;_ the memory of his miserable and unhappy face stung in my mind from his mug shot. How defeated he was after losing Peter because of the full bloody moon! Willing to die by a Dementor's Kiss of Harry hadn't used his patronus---

 **Rule 5;** don't get near Professor Dumbledore as a friend or foe.

 **Rule 6:** Don't get enticed into The Order of the Phoenix.

 **Rule 7** : Don't tell a living soul how I know what I know.

 **Rule 8:** Send some funny pictures to Sirius Black at Azkaban, a teddy bear, something. Something positive.

_Dear Mister Noori:_

_We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardly. Please find enclosed a list of all necessity books and equipment._

_Term begins September 1st. We await your owl by no later than July 31st._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Minerva Mcgonagall_

_Deputy Headmistress._

At the mention of the most beloved witches in history sending me a acceptance letter that I was a Wizard, I smiled. I felt understaffed, completely ordinary, and less ready to deal with the Wizarding World than how most people given the chance to live in the Wizarding world would. I am sure that the die hard Potter heads-- isn't that what they call themselves? -- wouldn't find themselves ready to faint being in a world that they love. But unlike me, I don't like the future of this world but _I have to_ live with it and make sure that I steer clear of anything that would take my loved ones away from me three decades early.

"Daddy, where do we get the school supplies?"

"Diagon Alley," Daddy said. "John, how about you tell the others that we will be away?"

Daddy had just about stopped laughing.

"I will go about that, Charles." Dad was snickering as he shook his hand. "Just make sure to be safe, will you?"

"If you mean about evading that rotten Malfoy, I am the most expert in it, compared to some people I know who can't evade him." Daddy said.

"Our paths cross at that Dragon show by accident and he throws the first punch when he insults our Dragon Hatchery." Dad grumbled, folding his arms, scowling. "Just because we take eggs from abusive and neglectful owners with dragons that weren't raised right doesn't mean we are going to return those eggs to relatives! Can't trust them can't own them can't have surveillance on them twenty-four-seven on the care of those precious eggs! Even if most of those families are pure blooded, it doesn't even MATTER!"

"He isn't even here and you are already arguing with him." Daddy sighed. "Come on, little Muslim Wizard."

He took me by the hand toward the front gate

"For MERLIN'S SAKE, IT DOESN'T EVEN MATTER HOW HIGH AND MIGHTY THEY are--"

Daddy halted in his tracks then slid me along his side and smiled looking down upon me.

"Hang on, Robbie. We're taking the short way to the pub." And then, before it clicked in my mind what he meant, the scene around me changed and dad's voice was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this as three chapters on quotev but decided to stack them together as one chapter because it deals with the beginning. Every time I was reminded how Sirius Black spent unfairly twelve years in Azkaban, I got angry and got prodded further to write this and did keen research for the character's personality and house that he would be sorted in.


	2. Diagon Alley

Finally, the change of scenery stopped and I was clenching on to Daddy's pant leg as I panted feeling like my world was still spinning from the flight. It felt as if I had been aboard a plane and clung for dear life through a storm that was eighty miles per hour. I staggered off then tripped over a stone and fell much to the laughter of my parent. I started to get up to my feet then took his offered hand and assembled myself a new balance. A balance that I quickly gained on my feet then relaxed.

I looked up spotting the sign for the leaky cauldron above our heads then he opened the door and I walked in with my head held up. Daddy followed me into the building and the door closed behind us. I jumped at the sound of the door closing then scanned the inside of the building noticing how medieval it appeared to be instead of modern with the candles, gray walls with shadows, and the entire feel of the place was quite mystical and odd for all its faults.

"Ah, Mr Bb-b-bb-b-b-b-b-bar----bbaar----barfoot!" Came the cry of a familiar voice. "Wel--wel---we---wel---come to the Leaky Cauldron!"

I froze as I spotted Quirrel there along the counter on a stool as the bartender stood behind it pouring a drink.

"Want the usual, Barfoot?" the wizardly bartender asked.

And Lord Voldemort is in the same room as I am.

"No, thanks. " Daddy shook his hand. "I am here for Hogwart's shopping."

And that's really terrifying, being in the same place as the man murdered a entire family even terrified a entire world for years at a time including long after his demise. Quirrel was a insult with that head turban to the Muslim faith, to every faith in general, using it as a disguise instead of representing his faith. Speaking of which, no one knew what his truth faith was. 

"H-h-h-h-hhello." Quirrel said.

"As-salam alaykom." I replied.

 _May peace be unto you,_ that was the best I could say to the man who had the soul of Voldemort.

"S-s-s-s-sorry?"

"'abn alshrmwt." Son of a bitch, you son of a bitch, son of a bitch---Yes, I did say _son of a bitch_ to a Hogwarts professor in my mother tongue.

"This is your professor at Hogwarts, Robbie." Daddy said. "That isn't how you respond to a fellow human being."

My hands clenched into fists as I stared at the man who aligned himself with the force of evil, with the fascism that swept through America only decades ago and had now just started to seep its way into the Wizarding World once more to finish what it had started. I stared back at daddy without much of sharing another word, as little as saying; I cannot speak to this imposter. I cannot speak to this terrorist. That is what he represented. _Terrorism._

"Is it about the turban?" Quirrel patted on the head turban. "I-i-i-i-ii-i--i I got it from slaying a zombie."

"How did you do that, Professor?" Daddy asked.

"T-t-t--t-t-t-t-th--the weather was t-t-t--t-t-terrible." Quirrel said.

"You mean to say that you ran away in the rain from a zombie and got the head impaled by the nearest pointy material." I said.

"W-w-w-why, yes, I did!" He stared at me with his eyes wide open. "H-h-h-have you---"

"Killed a zombie? No." I shook my head with a loud and highly amused laugh. "A person high on soap and preparing to eat me? Yes. Self defense? Yes?"

"Oh-h-h-h-h-h video game?"

"No, real life."

I could feel daddy's gaze on me.

"H-h-h-hh-h-h-h-hhow odd."

"Did that work?"

"Yy-y-y-y-y-yyes."

"Let's get your school supplies, Robbie."

Daddy took me by the arm and walked on from the scene.

"Mr baa-baa--bbaarfoot, I wasn't aware that you had a son."

Daddy paused.

"We just adopted him this year." Daddy shifted toward Quirrel. "He is of the Muslim faith, so forgive him for the pointed glare, he doesn't like those who pretend to be who they are not."

Daddy and I departed from the interior of the leaky cauldron to the back coming to the cramped and square back room. He took out his crooked white wand with wear and tear from his side pocket then tapped on the specific bricks with ease. I watched the bricks retreat away until there was a large corridor opening ahead of us as the behind came open with a high pitch creak. Daddy took my hand then guided me into Diagon Alley that was full of pointed hats, noisy people, and shops as far as the eye could see.

We went through the entrance way to Diagon Alley side by side.

"Uniform; first year students will require: three sets of plain work robes; black. One plain pointed hat. Also black. One pair of protective glove---Dragon Hide or something like that Robbie." Daddy said as he regarded the list of material. "One winter cloak. Black with silver fastenings. And also all students clothes must carry name tags."

"Name tags?" I asked. "Such as where?"

"Preferably on at the area where most muggle tags go." Daddy said. "Course books; the standard book of magic, year one, by--" he squinted at the parchment then slipped out his glasses and stared down at the paperwork. "Miranda Geoshark? Gershank? That is hard to make out. A history of magic by Bathilda Bagshot. . . or Bagshet,."

"Didn't you own your first books?"

"Yes, but I returned them after my first year and resold them for a lot of Galleons and saved them for this specific occasion."

"Oh."

"Magical Draughts and Potions by Assius Digger. Fantastic Beasts and Where To Find them by Newt Seamander."

I forced back a laugh at his attempt to read the list. Instantly, I knew the correct spelling of the last writer; It was Newt Scamander. I vividly was thrown back into the moment when going out with my date to the first movie then promptly to the second one where I heard a collective groan from the theater goers once it became apparent that there was a Dark Lord in the making that was quite all too apparent and seemed that we were watching a complete retcon in the history of the Wizarding World before Voldemort.

I walked out as did what was left of my crew and greeted her at the car and listened to her furious ranting as I listened and we agreed that day we wouldn't watch another film, together or not at all, that took place in the Wizarding world and focused our attention on to more pleasing pieces of magic such as Narnia, Mary Poppins, Aladdin, Nanny McPhee, Bednobs and Broomsticks, and what not. The memory behind that specific movie faded and I was thankful that the first movie featuring Newt was canon.

"Daddy, can you read in cursive?"

"Somewhat. Magical Theory by Affadant Waffing. A beginner's guide to Transfiguration by . . ." Daddy paused as he squinted further toward the paper that was pressed against his face. "Twitch."

Fondly, I recalled Twitch the DJ from Ellen Degeneres. I couldn't help but imagine him being _secretl_ y a Wizard and all.

"That's a pretty nifty name."

"The Dark Forces: The Guide to Self-Protection by Quintin Tribble."

And the last one made me grin the hardest at the mention of tribbles restricting myself from cackling but I recalled, Star Trek: The Original Series was born before I so the restraint faded and I laughed. So did daddy as we went into a building that was warm and partially dark. The sound of stamping echoed in the long corridor to the bank. Our laughter faded in the long moment after standing alongside the doorway, crying -- daddy was always a crier when it came to the most small popular culture references that he understood and saw it as that amusing --, side by side. The thought of a tribble writing a paper was ridiculous and quite hilarious to entertain as a thought.

Daddy reeled in his laughter putting a hand on my shoulder.

"Other requirements, however, are the all in the ones: wand, cauldron Pewton Homdard size 2, 1 let of glass or Crystal Phials, telescope, set of brass soakes."

"And?"

"A pet. Students may bring a cat, a owl, or a toad."

"What day is it today?"

"July 29th, Monday, the most unusual birthday that you ever had. Come along, little Wizard."

I looked around the corridor noticing of the diligent working goblins in their stations stamping away. I followed daddy to one of the stations then he cleared his throat, loudly, drawing the attention of the small goblin who scowled upon him.

"We're here to take money out of my adopted son Robert Noori's vault."

"Do you have the key?"

I was in awe looking at the lighting illuminating the room that best resembled a very long dining hall instead of a banking building.

"Quite so."

"Did you bring it this time? I recall vividly that you forgot your vault key."

It had been quite awhile since I had been in a bank since the Coronavirus swept through the nation first by airplane then by droplets like the virus from the reboot of the rise of the apes.

"Yes, yes, yes." Daddy searched his pockets. "That was a mistake on my part. I was busy preparing for John's birthday."

I can still hear the theme at the end playing as the virus slowly spread as through the globe as headlines popped up and nations around the world closed like lightning as America dug its heels into the soil and allowed the virus to be spread by asymptomatic people and those who were stricken by it forced to work.

"Any moment now." Daddy said.

I can still remember the email that was sent by my boss demanding that I return to work or else I would be given the pink slip, then my landlord demanding I pay up, then being homeless, then finding a local homeless shelter.

"Wait. . . wait. . . wait just a moment." Daddy took off his jacket and searched. It was quite routine for him to do this; he hid anything important to him just about anywhere and that is what I semi-noticed apart from my thoughts that were raging on about the virus.

Being kicked out of your own home and forced to share a building with other homeless people in the same boat for a month and prematurely open isn't a good combination.

"Have you tried your shoe, sir?" the goblin cupped the side of his face looking upon daddy.

I didn't need to die.

"Oi, why not!"

I had a stable job, a good apartment, and because one man didn't want to spend money on the people who voted him in; **I died.**

"Not in the shoes." I heard as I heard daddy's shoes crash to the floor with a loud squeak.

"Wait just a moment!" Daddy insisted.

"Hmm." The goblin said as Daddy took off a sock.

"And there it is!" Daddy exclaimed. 

"I never seen a Wizard leave their key in their sock before. " The goblin said, sounding in awe, admirable, and quite intrigued.

"Safest place in the world!" Daddy announced.

"Just what other keys do you have in your sock, Mr Barfoot?" the goblin asked, raising a hairy brow.

I didn't have to die.

"Many." Daddy replied.

I didn't _need_ to die.

"Come this way, Mr Barfoot."

The bitter reminder of being in a bank for the first time in a month dug deeply at the injustice of my entrance into the Wizarding World.

"Robbie." Daddy's voice came to.

I was shaken out of my train of thought by my parent then followed him down the stairs to the lower half of Gringotts. We came into a coal cart as a goblin picked up a glowing lantern and we shuffled inside of the cart then sat down into the seats of the booths that were available.

The goblin hopped up into the boot alongside us as daddy made sure that we were buckled in by creating rope out of thin air to make sure that we stuck into our seats. The goblin pressed a leveler forward then the coal cart flew on down the railing as we shrieked. The cart went over hills and mound shapes eventually going over bridges. I looked over spotting other occupied coal carts including what appeared to be at first glance two white-blonde heads seated side by side going deeper into the cavern system.

Finally, the coal cart came to a pause then the goblin opened the door.

"This is tunnel four thousand eight hundred forty-three." The goblin said.

"Wicked." I said, in awe.

The goblin was the first of us to leave as we unbuckled and the seat belts vanished. We made our way down the corridor then paused in front of a large circular door. Daddy took out a large nap sack from his pocket as the goblin put the key into the vault. The vault doors opened with methodical but gentle clicks and what sounded to be strangely beeps. I wasn't aware that Wizards used machines, only muggles did that, specifically for film, entertainment, or for the advancement of necessity.

I stared at the vault inside that was full to the brim of gold with surprisingly many items of value. Items that weren't made of gold but of paper and wood and hardback. Such as items I recognized that they got me after the adoption process; a skateboard, a guitar, roller skates, protective gear, rolled up posters of value, two shelves of a book case devoted to DVD cassettes and the lower halves were full of books that I recognized and had forgotten the contents of in the last thirty years.

I stared quite slack jawed then faced Daddy as he went inside then collected lumps of gold coins setting them into the knapsack. It made sense why Quirrel said that he hadn't heard they had a son. It only meant one thing to me and one thing only; they remembered the life before. _They waited for me._

"Robbie, let's get you those school supplies." Daddy said as he grinned and the goblin withdrew the key once the door closed closed behind.

I was quite touched and felt my own heart break at the same time while smiling back at him then nodded. 

_How long had they waited to see me in my room? How many times did they open the door and anticipate to see me on my bed fast asleep?_ I then realized, without having to ask, the reason why they didn't talk about the life before. It is because they wanted us to enjoy the new life that we got to experience together helping a new generation become acquainted better than they did and enjoy the world of magic to the fullest. Surprisingly, I found myself feeling capable of living with that choice.

I followed daddy into the cart, buckled up, and held the lump of gold that he handed to me then buckled me up with the spell. 

"Ready to go, Mr Barfoot?" the goblin asked.

"Ready." Daddy said.

"Me too." I chimed.

And away we went to the surface, exited the coal cart, then briskly made our way to the exit of Gringotts passing by the rush of wizards and witches. We exited Gringotts with a fair share of money in the heavy nap sack. I followed Daddy through the crowded street as he held on to my wrist and navigated a way for the nearest store.

"Olllivanders," Daddy said. "Is where smart wizards go to get wands that were recycled by their owners or from their very deceased owners."

I shook with rage at the thought of the Potters wands being here and calmed myself; _Harry will get his justice._

"Cool." I said.

"Robert, would you like me to get the school supplies while you get your wand?"

"Yes, Daddy," I said. "Let me pick the animal though."

"Good." Daddy said.

"And Daddy." I added.

"Yes?" Daddy said.

"You and dad are the best." I said.

And Daddy beamed back at me.

"You are the best thing that happened to us, squirt." Daddy ruffled my hair then took the sack. He took out about fifteen galleons out then handed them out to me. "Just in case you get a expensive wand."

"How do wands usually cost?"

"Five to seven galleons."

"So, how much is that in American dollars?"

"That would be fifty dollars to a hundred seventy five dollars."

I whistled at the cost.

"Geeze, that's hella expensive. So fifteen galleons; wouldn't that be two hundred fifty-five dollars?"

"Hmm. Close to it."

I laughed then went inside of the store and the door closed behind me. And that store happened to be the same one that I vividly recall down to the nearest detail. My foggy memory on the events that plagued Harry Potter became clear for this memorable movie. It was covered in dust and aged with boxes everywhere around the room with a small chair in the crowded room.

The room had thousands of boxes from head to toe while the room was full of first year students crowding every piece of little space there was. So I wormed my way up the stair case then found a small space in the corner of the area then sat down and waited for the crowd to thin out. I sat there humming to myself watching as the crowd shuffled and moved from side to side like giant ants and I was the smallest ant of them all. A man with white curly hair and big glasses that had thick rims which masked his eyebrows but not his eyes came to a pause then lowered himself to my level. What stood out to me was that his eyes looked strange. A bit like silver.

"Oh, hello."

"Hi."

"Why in Morgana's name are you sitting down there?"

"Waiting for the herd to lighten up, sir." I twirled my finger.

"Oh. That certainly explains it."

"Are you Mr Ollivander?"

"No. No! No." the man started to laugh. "No. I am just here overseeing a cousin of mine gets his wand." His voice sounded vaguely familiar.

"Do you work for Hogwarts?"

Again, he laughed.

"I'm a squib. Can't work as a Professor if I can't do magic. Been that way for the last ten years."

"I am Robert Noori." I held my hand out then saluted him with my other hand. "Thank you for your service, sir."

The man was at first surprise, his glasses raising as his eyebrows, somewhat in surprise at the unexpected gesture.

"Gerald." Gerald took my small hand and shook it with a smile. "Gerald White."

"I have lived through the gulf war in the middle east so I know how hard it must be being unable to do what you could do before," I said. "Long as you don't let your trauma define you and you define yourself picking up the pieces of what you were before then it is all okay."

"The gulf war?"

"The Gulf War was held between August 2nd 1990 to February 28th 1991." I rehearsed. "It was codenamed Operation Desert Shield from August 2nd 1990 to January 17th 1991 for operations leading to the buildup of troops and defense of Saudi Arabia and Operation Desert Storm January 17th 1991 to February 28th 1991 in its combat phase, was a **war** waged by coalition forces from 35 nations led by the United States against Iraq in response to Iraq's invasion and annexation of Kuwait arising from oil pricing and production disputes. I am from Baghdad."

"History book, are you?" Gerald asked.

"I lived it. " I started then had a heavy sigh. "It's hard to forget something that took away my family. . . But harder to remember how they were taken from my life."

Gerald withdrew his hand.

"Do you let your trauma define you?" Gerald asked.

I laughed looking up toward the taller man.

"The only thing that does define me is justice." I said. "I have been bothered by my injustice. It's my fuel to attend protests."

"A eleven year old at _protests_?" Gerald's voice almost became high pitched. Almost.

"I have done everything to try and remember what happened. So I can properly grieve--but, I can't" I shrugged, folding my arms, as the taller man looked upon me. "I just think the proper conditions for that memory to come back haven't been met yet."

"A eleven year old at protests, that is unheard of---what the ever for?"

"Civil rights and justices for the people in the minority killed by people with power who dislike them for existing. I have attended them all--until this." I gestured toward myself

Gerald was perplexed, it was hard to see if his brows were knitted together, hunched together, but it was in his eyes that he was quite confused.

"Asides to plain clothes officers being in there trying to stir up trouble and kicking them out promptly, we had some peaceful protests that got officers fired."

Gerald stared down at me blinking, a bit like how the lions in the 2019 remake of The Lion King blinked the entire movie away like cats. And that was _a lot_ of blinking. Gerald slipped out a card from his pocket then handed it to me and I stared down at it.

"If you like to talk to someone about your ordeal at Baghdad, " Gerald said. "I am open. Asides to the galleons."

"Psychologist?" I asked.

"No." Gerald smiled back at me as I took the card and stared down upon the address. "I work as a therapist."

Gerald leaned up to his full height linking his other hand behind his back then his head hit several boxes. Needless to say, his head sent the boxes flying all over the place with a yelp. I watched as the dozens of wands flung into the air and crashed around the first years around us. I laughed, throwing my head back, slapping my hand on my knee as I silently wheezed until two wands I felt something hard hit my head. I reached out then grabbed the box as that had fallen on to my head. Gerald walked off as I slid the box into my lap then opened the box up with care as I heard the shrieks and cries of children that brought a smile to my face.

"Cousin, I got my wand!" I heard the all too familiar voice of Draco Malfoy, his iconic high pitched voice with entitlement and arrogance, the sheer voice of a annoying Malfoy.

All until I spotted that the box had two wands. I picked up the first wand then and nothing remotely happened as I held it, admiring it, noticing how simplistic and disarmed it appeared to be with little age lingering on it. It was a simple long jet black wand that had the texture of a chess piece. The slightly golden light pouring in from the window above me provided a means to see if there were any ruins or markers or carvings which there were not.

Wands are magical so they were immune to the wrath of time if not for being cracked in half then they were not invisible. I carefully slid the second wand inside and the partially golden light vanished probably thanks to a rain cloud. The distinctive smell of sweetness in the air told me it was going to rain. I hadn't smelled the rain in a long time like this and enjoyed the smell without the sense of dread of being soaked and getting sick and being covered in the virus that spread faster by droplets.

Slowly, I picked up the second wand. It summoned bright gold lighting with a very distinctive wind that brushed against my face. I picked up another fallen wand and nothing happened. I put the third wand into the box that was left upside down with the lid beside it. I slid my wand into the first box then picked the second box up and returned the fallen box into its home. I turned away then spotted a opening to make my way down the steps so I took the opportunity going fast as a cannonball only coming to a halt in part because of a door then Gerald slid the door aside looking toward my direction.

"Oh, I did not mean to do that, Noori." Gerald apologized.

"I have ran into worse things by accident, Gerald." I rubbed my nose. "Ilal Liqaa."

 _Until we meet again_ , I split my fingers apart in the greeting that I best felt a Wizard may understand the 1980's saw a explosion of Star Trek starting from the films featuring the original cast of _Star Trek: The Original Series_ and the sequel that spawned off it called _Star Trek: The Next Generation_. A quite decent and memorable show compared to the newest spin off _Star Trek: Discovery_ that missed the mark on what it meant to be a Star Trek and _Star Trek: Picard_ went on with a most decent direction. I had lived through war. I didn't need to be reminded by a science fiction show that was supposed to be about hope, optimism, and peace on how small hope was or tiny or how bleak it was. Survivors like me knew all that.

Gerald smiled then returned the salute and departed the building. I went toward the otherwise shorter man with the pointy hat and dark Wizardly clothes, small glasses that rested on the bridge of his nose, as he took the small sacks of galleons from the family members of the students or the students themselves. I slid the box forward on to the counter and the man took off his pointy hat then looked on toward me in surprise. I had to understand that seeing someone of a different ethnicity wasn't too common in the British Wizarding World.

"Robert Noori, parents are the Barfoots, you might have given them their first wands." I then frowned. "Or may not have."

Ollivander had to give some thought.

"Hmm, which Barfoot?" Ollivander asked. "I know many Scottish families with Barfoots in their names."

"John Barfoot and Charles Barfoot." I replied.

"That was before my time." Ollivander said. "Not." he grew a broad smile. "I was thirty-two when they came in here. I wasn't aware they got together and adopted a kid."

"They are very private people." I surmised.

Ollivander opened it up.

"Oh, so that is where I put that poor sad wand. " Ollivander tsked with a shake of his head.

"What happened to the owner?" I asked.

Ollivander looked toward me.

"The owner?" Ollivander asked.

"Yes." I nodded.

"The owner was slain in a dual protecting the Potters while defying a Dark Lord." Ollivander explained as the potential first year students fell silent in his retelling. "A week before the Potters died. A week before the worst of all dark lords died by Harry Potter. A week before a close friend of the Potters betrayed them."

"Who did it belong to?" asked a young witch beside me.

"Sirius Black." Ollivander said.

My chest felt as though it had tightened and the floor beneath me had given out even as if my heart had been torn out at the unexpected reply. I wiped my sleeve quite thankful of that one significant change and my whole world of my world's view of the world of the Wizarding World's future fell down several notches.

He didn't have to die, need to die, meant to die so Harry could still have his heroic journey and spend the next seven years suffering in the building blocks of Voldemort's return. Harry could suffer but this time without knowing that he had lost the best part of his life or watch the shred of family fall through that stupid veil fighting against Bellatrix. But, instead of that, he died a different way.

Rule 8 existed no more.

"How did he die?" the witch beside me asked.

"Exploded." Ollivander replied, grimly. "But the dark lord left his ebony wand intact."

Ollivander looked toward the wand in sympathy then shifted the attention on to me.

"That is really strange." voiced the young witch.

I looked at the witch who had dark curly bushy locks that were larger than her head that was a wild mess as her features reminded me of Hermione Granger and she had two buck front teeth. No, it can't be. Hermione was white as I recall as my skin felt heated in the aftermath of the explosive bombshell. I took my attention off with a head shake. My crew would argue that she was Hermione, as that Sirius Black's death that meant other things could be different in this different iteration of the Wizarding world and I wouldn't really believe that for a moment even if it were down to the smallest atom.

"I can't seem to sell it for the last ten years as it refuses every Wizard of every upbringing, temperament, and those in need of a new wand." Ollivander said. "Could you hang on to it for a little while?" he held the wand out for me as I looked at the black wand that reminded me of a chess piece. "This wand is very exasperating to get rid of."

"I can do that, sir." I nodded. "You need time away from looking at the unsellable wand."

"Yes." Ollivander said with a bemused nod. "I can get rid of every wand in this place." then he frowned. "Except for the dark lord's."

"Don't worry sir, I will hide it in the safest place I know for however you need it away." I assured the wand maker. "Safer than Gringotts and Hogwarts."

"Nobody knows who was the secret keeper of the Potters but I have some sources who say they were _a_ Squib." Ollivander said.

Inwardly, I frowned as murmurs came through the crowd.  
"A Squib?"

"A Squib would have nothing to do with the world of magic. They can't use magic themselves!"

"How dark!"

"What would a Squib want with the dark lord?"

 _A Squib?_ Why a Squib? I don't recall any one from the films mentioned that were friends of James and Lily Potter who were Squibs. Maybe, they did. I just don't recall into detail of the many characters who popped up in the movies and the events that happened. Maybe because their appearance were not to be as tragic as the ones that I did recall vividly and furiously when they crossed my mind.

"Now, which one is your wand?" Ollivander asked.

"This one, sir." I took out the wand and revealed it.

"Hmm. . . Vine," Ollivander said. "You must have a great mind to deserve such a special vine."

"How is it special?" I asked.

"This used to belong to a very skilled Auror." Ollivander said as his fingers clenched on each side of the wand in sorrow that was gentle and kind even fond. "This wand is hard to forget." Ollivander handed me the wand with great care. "Used to belong to a witch who was tortured to insanity."

I took out my sack of galleons then quickly stacked my galleons on the table, slid the wand into the box, and made a quick dash out---instead, I hit the door and fell back with a loud thud.

"Damn it." I muttered.

I got up then opened the door and went out past the families until I were in a corner where everyone was naturally sweeping by then waited at the nearest corner for Daddy as I scanned the area for him. Instead, I spotted the witch and her family come out, a white man and a dark woman side by side holding packaging that was covered in brown layer of baggage including what seemed to be the outline of a cauldron. The young witch approached me then took her wand out and held it in front of me.

"Scourgify." I saw a brilliant flash of light then it was over. "Nariz reparo." And then I heard a loud crack. "You broke your nose."

"Thank you." I thanked as I rubbed my nose. "That's Spanish." the words clicked in my personal linqustic database sealed in the backdrop of my mind. "Nose repair?" I lifted a brow. "That's funny."

"You're welcome." Was the young witch's reply. "You ought to pay attention to where you're going. I was told Hogwarts is full of powerful wizards and witches so it won't be wise to not be paying attention. Might just bump into someone you don't like on the first day of first term and begin a rivalry."

"I am not interested in rivalry." Then I shook my hand. "I will have my eyes peeled out when I attend Hogwarts."

"Oh, second year?" Came her mother as she joined her side.

"No, first year." I replied.

"Our little Hermione already made her first friend!" 

I felt the blood drain from my face with that comment from her father.

I broke my fourth rule. **Rule 4;** _avoid Harry Potter's group_. I get the distinctive feeling that I wasn't going to get my way when it came to attending Hogwarts. So I decided to amend Rule 4; **Rule 4:** Do _not_ befriend Harry Potter. Also do pray that Allah does not make me break any further rules. Hermione sighed, rolling her eyes, then shifted toward her father.

"We're acquaintances, dad." Hermione said. "Isn't that right, double wand welder?"

"Yup." I said.

 **Rule 8:** pray that Hermione still gets enlisted into gryffindor.

 **Rule 9:** Get a magical cat.

"Robbie!" Daddy called. "I got the books!"

"Ilal Liqaa, Miss Granger!"

I waved back at Hermione and she turned back at me like I had two heads -- that's a facial expression I am very familiar to, not many children heard my mother tongue, as if it were a alien language that came from space -- so I turned on the heels of my feet then made a mad dash after daddy who waved a hand above the crowd and rejoined him holding on to his hand as he held the stack of books along his arm and went about gathering the other supplies.


	3. adapting in progress to the wizarding world

"What pet do you want, Robbie?" Daddy asked.

We stood in the building that housed the assortment of magical pets. I scanned the range of owls, dogs, cats, toads, and what not. It was hard to read the cursive words as I squinted desperately seeking for some meaning in the language. Cursive wasn't a strong suit but when it came to Arabic writing, it just came naturally to me being able to read it. I shifted my head toward Daddy.

"A cat." I said.

"A kneazle cat?" Daddy asked.

"If it's a maine coon cat," I replied. "yes."

"Why not a owl?"

"Getting a kneazle cat is planting roots and having someone take care of the rats around me."

"A owl hunts and eats rats. Owls are naturally faster at delivering messages. But a cat can't do that."

"Daddy, argumentatively, can cats magically find who they are intended to send a letter to?"

"Never heard of a cat doing that."

"Or a dog?"

"Never heard of a dog doing that, either. And think of the poor cat. Alas, if you choose a cat and need to send a owl then you can use Hogwarts's owls."

"That is a amazing journey come to think of it."

"Don't even do it. Think of the poor cat!"

"I am, I am." I laughed and giggled and snickered and cackled. "I am finding it funny for a grumpy cat to willingly cross the ocean, paddling against the waves, avoiding the sharks, boats, and whales, with the letter in tact." I looked toward the kneazle cats that had either missing ears, missing limbs, or a missing tail--- "I call dibs on this one!"

I picked up one of the kneazles that were black with piercing blue eyes, a layered mane around the neck with pointy ears, stubby tail, and a back that was raised up quite stiff. It almost reminded me of a small lion that had been bred with the domesticated cat quite successfully. The cat's eyes stared back at me quite passively and I stared back feeling a hundred times more elated than I had before. The cat reminded me of cats that were commonly found in Indonesia that I had been fortunate to live alongside in my childhood until my parents moved to Baghdad. I flung the cat along my shoulder and turned toward daddy.

"What are you going to call it?"

The cat mewed and I took another look back at the eyes of the cat to spot a distinctive scar along the right side of the face that spread about standing out in such a eye that was quite sore, painful, and horrifying. I grinned at the scar on the cat's face then snapped my fingers as the name came to mind. If the cat could wag their tail then I sure it would be waving from side to side.

"Scarface!" I announced. "Scarface!"

Daddy took out some galleons and handed them to the person beside him then was handed a slip of paper and a pen.

"I will get the paperwork." Daddy said.

* * *

I spent my first evening organizing my Hogwarts belongings tucking them into the closet with Scarface perched on my shoulder. Once, the closet was a place that I saw a packed place full of junk I would never use or see again, once that was a very long time ago. My closet that I had lost was empty -- unlike this, it was partially empty with coat hangars, boxes of winter gear and what not -- back in the land of the dreary. The box of Hogwarts gear was labeled appropriately then set about with the lid on top. I took out the card that Gerald had given me then set it on the counter, contemplating; _some young Witch or Wizard might need a referral. I should keep it._

The next few evenings were spent jotting down on a notebook becoming acquainted to writing on paper and my parents helped me become familiar to the art of cursive so I could easily read the textbooks. It was long and difficult and irritating as I was slowly beginning to earn the ability to read in cursive in between meal times. I heard my parents amused laughter once they came back from the hatchery a few times but after a time, they stopped doing that and grew concerned while Scarface remained perched on my shoulder rubbing along my cheek purring away the discomfort of writing then erasing on the same parchment of paper repeatedly.

* * *

"Robert,"

It was my fourth day in the Wizarding World when dad came to my side so I looked up toward him.

"Yes, dad?"

Dad grinned then took something out from behind his back.

"I have rescued a new egg from a neglectful owner with a couple of aurors aid!" Dad announced, cheerfully, then his shoulders loosened. "Would you like to carry the egg with me?"

"I don't trust myself with eggs, dad." I said. "I drop them. Remember the last time you gave me the task of holding them?"

"The bag broke, Robert." Dad said quite exasperated. "You will have to trust yourself when you get to Hogwarts."

"Maybe not now?" I shook my hands as I leaned back into the chair. "I haven't seen the dragon hatchery and you know how I am like with magical places I haven't been to."

Dad grimaced.

"I have forgotten about that."

I looked around the room with my elbow leaned against the chair.

"Where is daddy?" I looked up toward dad.

Dad's grimace was replaced by a grin.

"John is working as a Auror chasing down a con artist wizard." Dad replied.

"That sounds fun." I noted.

Dad flashed a smile, widely, from ear to ear.

"Very." I never sounded him that gleeful before. And a part of me wondered if he had been a auror before.

We went to the back yard as dad held the large egg in his arms humming to himself for several paces. I jogged my way forward with a laugh and hopped along the boulders cackling like a maniac having fun. It had been so long since I got to be out and about that it felt refreshing. I saw a tree alongside a giant boulder then leaped and crashed on to the top of the uneven boulder. I climbed up the tall tree with little difficulty using the branches and the stumps as my guide up until I made it to the top bypassing the bird nests. I looked on spotting the area ahead of us with as much glee that belonged to adventerous child ready to conquer the world and ride a dragon or fight in a army lead by Aslan or Aragorn.

I heard dad's call then proceeded to hop my way down the tree until I was out then slid down the boulder. I ran after him, happily, and energetic. Dad was old but he kept up his pace ahead of me. I laughed making my way ahead of him as dad continued to hum then shifted my attention toward a space between two boulders with remains of wood. Uh oh. I tried to stop but my legs were moving too fast to respond. I braced myself to hit the wall but instead I walked right inside and tripped once losing my step. I crashed to my hands then got up to my feet dusting the dirt off my outfit.

The dragon hatchery was full of eggs in nests that ranged in size to accommodate for them. I saw a elf darting back and forth among the scenery stirring the eggs in a specific direction under rows of light that were purposely aimed for their direction. I stare in awe at the eggs decorating the area. It was almost as if I were standing in a warehouse. I looked up and spotted a board that read: **DRAGONS ARE PRIMARY FOUND IN AUSTRALIA, ARIZONA, GENERALLY IN THE WILDERNESS, COUNTRY AREAS SUCH AS ROMANIA, AND OTHER UNSPECIFIC LOCATIONS. THEY ARE MONARCHS OF THE SKY.**

I saw a egg shaking from side to side close by.

"Dad, egg is hatching!" I announced.

"I don't hear a chirp from this egg." Dad placed the side of his ear along the egg that he were holding.

"Master, you have arrived in time!" A house elf beamed across from me. "The egg rescued from Mistress Kalico is preparing to hatch!"

I knelt down alongside the egg peering over it watching as cracks formed. It was fascinating watching the egg crack at the seams.

"Wonderful!" Dad announced.

I heard a squeak be emitted from the egg.

"Isn't it adorable, Robert?" Dad asked as he placed the new egg into a waiting nest.

I stared in intrigue.

"It's amazing." I said, softly.

I watched a large piece of the egg fall off and the strange curve area of the nose stand out. It was the same feature that I had seen from hatchlings on youtube on my spare time in the last decade. I held my hands on my knees watching as the little dragon shook the egg, slowly, struggling to escape. I must have been seated there for hours listening to the chirping. Finally, the egg fell apart and the dragon came rolling down. I caught the dragon in my hand then smiled.

"Gotchya, little fella."

The little dragon squeaked then puffed out smoke at me so I giggled.

"Matilda, get the basket ready for little Saphira." Dad said. "I will send the owl for the Romianian sanctuary for Dragons that she has hatched."

Dad got up to his feet then went to the desk that waited for him and I stared upon the strange creature. I reached my hand out for the creature, carefully but slowly, with my hand trembling with faint memories of horror movies crossing my mind most importantly the scene where Saphira burned Eragon's hand or how Blue the Velociraptor ate the detective's hand or how xenomorph's attacked people mercilessly. The dragon sniffed my hand then climbed on to it, curled around my small wrist, then rested their head with some squeaks and fell fast asleep.

I relaxed with a smile and my worries about the fantasy creatures of the Wizarding World began to fade as minutes ticked by. I rubbed along the very exposed spine of the baby dragon then leaned against the nest and rested my side against the edge. I curled the tail, winding up and down, as though it were a elastic play toy that felt quite funny. Dad came back with a basket then came to my side and knelt down to my level. I looked up toward him with a smile then carefully slid the hatchling into the basket. The hatchling squeaked landing on to their back then hopped up and squeaked looking back at me.

"I will be back in a hour," Dad said. "Can you find your way back?"

"Sure, I can." I replied with a smile.

"Matilda," Dad turned toward the house elf. "If Robert fails to make it to the house in three hours, please pop him to the house."

Matilda nodded then Dad left the hatchery with the basket in hand.

"So, Matilda. . ." I said. "Do you move the eggs every so often?"

"Yes." Matilda replied. "The masters informed me they got me for the hatchery and the care of the house---they are busy people."

"Oh, they were hardly busy in the Muggle World." I replied. fondly. "Must have been a jarring change for them to have magic and exist as the Dark Lord did."

"The masters held muggleborns in the sanctuary in eggs when the mean and rude Death Eaters were on their way searching for the children." Matilda replied then frowned as she looked back in a way that I had seen from older people looking back at wars or dark blotches of history. History that I found myself thankful not being part of but saddened that it happened at all. "Saved thousands this way smuggling them to America, Cuba, and other places of sanctuary that aren't found on Earth. Places that people in desperation and fear can go to save their lives in a dark time."

"How many eggs need to be moved this hour?"

"Twenty-three."

"How about I help you?"

"No, no, no. You would have another twenty-three eggs to move after that. Stimulating the movements of a mother or father dragon takes a lot of energy and time. They do it every hour of the day and helping me would require your continued presence into the night."

"How long do you sleep?"

"Four hours. How about you?"

"Normally six to eight hours depending what time I went to bed." I replied then tilted my head. "Do Elves sleep that long?"

"House elves do." Matilda replied. "It's natural for us but not for muggles, wizards, or muggleborns."

"Then let me help you for most of the day and you have some rest while I do the work." I offered. 

"Are you sure about that?" Matilda asked. 

"I like to work, Matilda." I replied. "Best thing I can do. It's pure hell having nothing to do."

Matilda took out a set of glasses then handed them to me including a parchment.

"Refer to this paper before moving the eggs. It will tell you exactly how to notice the eggs are ready for shifting."

"Alright. I got it."

Matilda smiled then snapped her fingers as I slipped on the glasses and looked toward the paper. Busy busy busy, busy as a bee! _WORKING!_ With no virus fear! I started to dance at the reminder, swinging my arms back and forth, in a flossing fashion and swung my knees back and forth along to my glee. After that was done with a lot of laughter and excitement to work in a new normal that was safer than the one I had been forced into, I went about shifting the eggs with great care and happiness that I hadn't felt for a long time. It was a far precious memory.

* * *

_Dear Ministry of Magic:_

_I am unhappy to say that Harry Potter is being oppressed, abused, and used as a servant for the Dursleys. He lives in a cupboard---_

I erased the letter that I had been practicing on for the last week then sighed putting my hands on the letter setting my chin on my hands. I was outside of the house with my wand hoisted over the letter that was laid over a book under the cool weather of the night. _Practice, practice, practice_. That was proving to be handy as I was beginning to regain the ability to write clearly but instead it was all coming out in times new roman as the practice wore on. It felt nice to be outside in the open hearing the birds, seeing the darkening sky above my head, viewing constellations, and feeling generally peaceful and content.

I wanted to break the biggest rule of them all that had drastic consequences but Harry would be safe with another Wizarding family. A far more kinder one that he would consider family and the gift of Love bestowed upon him by his mother would still apply. I pouted over the argument that I had once shared with my girlfriend Britney. She had a fair point but . . . If she sacrificed herself and that carried heavy blood magic, then wouldn't that mean her bloodline would protect Harry? It was a gamble going on my girlfriend's argument. That the only thing that mattered to her sacrifice was that Harry was with people that he called family.

Prime Directive said I couldn't interfere with another civilization, not to play Allah, not to intervene in what was not my business. But this was a boy's life. A entire childhood that was well guided with good moments to seed in times for the future in which he needed a patronus. He needed all those good memories in the war against Voldemort. He was going to make more of them over the summer if I started the ball rolling. I recalled vividly how my girlfriend raved and ranted about Harry Potter, _"Poor Harry! Being used as a servant! He hardly deserved that! What was she thinking? It's almost as if she has a kink for bad homes for Wizards."_

I wondered to myself if all the great Wizards in the Wizarding World suffered a bad childhood in order to become great because it was starting to seem that way with what faint knowledge I had left over about certain characters, Tom Riddle, Harry Potter, Sirius Black, and that poor child with a mother who was a Muggle Supremacist condemning Wizards. _Severus Snape, Neville Longbottom!_

I almost forgot about those two. My girlfriend was especially peeved about that. It was the hook and the line sinker of divorcing canon that lead to the climatic moment in which she made the vow never to watch another Fantastic Beasts film. It was the rise of Voldemort all over again and we weren't willing to sit for two hours in a movie theater watching history repeat itself instead of watching the adventures of a magical zoologist collect Fantastic Beasts.

"Robbie, dinner is ready!" Daddy called.

I lifted my head up then picked up the equipment off the grass and got up to my feet.

"Coming, Daddy!"

I looked down at the paper then made the decision and smiled.

The Dursleys were going to have a check by the Magical Child Protection Service tomorrow morning.

I didn't have a rule about _not_ making Harry's life better after all. So I wasn't breaking any Prime Directive or any rules.

 **Rule 10;** Stay uninvolved with Harry's destiny.


	4. The boy-who-lived and the Auror

"Moody, we need you to do us a slight favor."

There were words that Alastor Moody liked to hear and did not like to hear. This was just one of them when it came to Minister Fudge when it came to investigating problems or ridding problems that were plaguing the Wizarding World that were wiped away with Moody and his team's help. Most of the time whatever was asked of him turned out to be pretty interesting in many cases even if a bit stupid how they came to be.

"And that is?" Moody asked.

"To check on Harry Potter."

Moody's alarms raise.

"What seems to be the problem with his current living arrangement, Minister?"

Fudge grimaced.

"We have gotten a report about treatment." Fudge replied. "Very _specific_ treatment. Something no child shouldn't be faced with."

Minister Fudge watched Moody's demeanor fade until anger and concern became noted features of his face.

"Is he hurt?" Moody asked.

Fudge shrugged.

"We don't know. " Fudge said. "All we got is this report."

Moody's furrowed brows relaxed then read the paper as his eyes squinted. He returned the paper to the minister then withdrew his hand.

"I see." Moody said.

"Will you check up on him?" Fudge asked. "Just this little favor."

Moody lifted his gaze upon the minister.

"He is the son of one of our own, I will."

Fudge smiled.

"Thank you, Auror Moody." Fudge said.

"Don't mention it if nothing comes of it." Moody replied. "Now, where is the little Potter?"

Fudge slipped open a device with his hand wand then leviosa-ed it to Moody.

"Here is the address." Fudge said.

Fudge handed the paper to Moody.

"Be careful, these are muggles raising him. Don't break the statue if you see any harm upon them."

Moody scanned the card then handed it back to the minster.

"I will see what I can get away then." Moody said. "Some slight inconvenience for harming someone as important as Harry but not the true justice that are allowed upon Muggles for abusing young Wizards." His voice grew bitter on the subject then shook his head and scowl. "This slight justice will do."

Moody turned away then walked out of the office of the minister. 

Fudge leaned back into the room then turned around to face the open window of his office quite relieved that hurdle was seen through. 

Fudge rubbed the center of his head as he leaned forward then clasped his hands together, silently praying to Merlin, that not all was what it was on the paper and that it was a simple hoax. His hand trembled in a fist as he imagined the abuse that could be wrecked upon the boy who lived. The boy who lived deserved a far better life style for defeating the dark lord and saving the Wizarding World.

Harry Potter deserved _everything_ instead of nothing but suffering and certain sorrow.

* * *

As much of Harry's existence started in the Dursleys house, it started with awakening in the dark cupboard.

"Up! Get up! Get up!" He heard the latch to his room be slid open then his door be smacked. "Now!"

Harry slid up then turned on the lighting on in his room. He turned around, got his cracked set of glasses on, then observed his room as Dudley came storming down the stairs sending dust over him. Dudley and Harry were the same age, eleven, one of them were going to a typical school, and the other -- as Harry -- wasn't quite certain with the letters coming day after day and being thrown out of the house or being burned to a crisp. He got out of the cupboard watching Dudley breeze past him then sighed in relief.

Harry had missed being ducked into his cupboard as usual by Dudley. With a sigh, he went out of the room then into the kitchen, "Make us some breakfast and don't burn it this time." came the usual jab from Petunia. And his melodramatic reply as usual was a dry, "Yes, Aunt Petunia."

He didn't understand all the hate that came toward him when it came to his parents. If they hated him so much, why couldn't they have set him up for adoption? He was a worthless human being to them far as he could understand with ties to a dark and disliked aspect of Aunt Petunia's life. The thought nagged at him as he let the eggs and bread cook a little longer than they should.

"Hurry up! Get me my coffee, boy!"

He slid the food on to the individual plates saving some of the scrap from the eggs and breadcrumbs on to a much smaller plate.

"Coming, Uncle Vernon."

The Dudleys frowned in unison at the boy's not better of cooking.

"My egg is cracked!" Dudley announced.

Vernon glared toward Harry.

"And my bread is burnt!" Dudley added.

Vernon's glare grew harder.

"Harry, is that frying pan cold enough?" Vernon asked.

"No, Uncle Vernon." Harry replied, as he took the tiny plate, then shifted toward the table that had glaring eyes back at him. "Hasn't finished cooling off yet."

"And where is my coffee?"

"Oh, I---"

Vernon grabbed the handle of the pan then whacked the side of Harry's cheek with it and a burn seared itself on to the side of the boy's face. Harry fell to his feet as he dropped the small plate of food that cracked into pieces once meeting the floor then applied a hand to the side with a whimper. 

"Look what you made me do!"

"Sorry."

"Now get up and make us a decent breakfast, you bloody git."

"Yes, Uncle Vernon."

Harry got back up then picked up a dish rag and picked up the pan, casually, then lifted it on to the stove. He retrieved three new plates, started the coffee, and prepared breakfast. Instead, the initial eggs came with Hogwarts letters and as soon as he saw them, they were snatched out by Petunia then dumped into the small bucket and burned with a small stick with a red tip.

Harry picked up the next set of eggs then was able to make the proper breakfast except for the fact that the last egg came out as another Hogwarts envelope that was promptly snatched by Vernon then ripped to shreds. Harry looked behind him making sure if they weren't over him as he cooked their breakfast. Vernon read the newspaper, Petunia's eyes were cruelly laid on him, and Dudley was getting quite impatient as he slouched in his chair with his arm folded. The coffee maker dinged and all the pieces of breakfast came together.

Harry decorated the table with silverware, napkins, and the food then heard a loud knock. Harry made his way to the front door as the Dudleys were eating away ignoring him as if he never existed at all to them in the first place. The thought of breakfast became a third issue behind the wound on the side of his cheek that stretched along to his right eye as a long circular burn. He turned the knob then opened the door and spotted a very tall man with a strange prosthetic eye gear and blonde hair that was in the process of graying. The man's sole remaining eye flashed open and Harry stared up at him.

"Are you part of Her Royal Mail Group?" Harry asked.

"Not in the slightest. My name is Moody, Alastor Moody." Moody said. "Where did you get that burn from?"

"I was clumsy with the pan." Harry replied.

Moody set his hand on the walking stick then lifted a brow as he leaned forward.

"Why were you in the possession of a pan?" Moody asked.

"I was cooking my family breakfast." Harry replied.

A lump lifted up into Moody's throat.

"Do you cook them breakfast?" Then Moody asked. "Normally."

Harry had a curt nod.

"Every day since I was four, sir." Harry replied.

"Since you were four." Moody repeated.

"Yes, sir." Harry confirmed.

Moody closed his eye as he leaned back then grew resolved facing the area ahead of him.

"Harry, I am a friend of your parents."

"Are you a drunk?"

Moody's attention snapped toward the boy, _Merlin's name!_

"No, no, no!" Moody declined then saw the look of terror on the boy's face---he had only seen that in moments when he were chasing down a Dark Wizard, a Death Eater, or a Wizard/Witch who were suspected of performing domestic violence toward their family. Harry stepped back with his grip on the handle. "I am not a drunk." Came out calmly as his composure was adjusted so the boy took a step forward losing the tension on him. "Have they told you that your parents were drunks?"

Harry shifted toward the inside of the house then back toward Moody.

"They tell me nothing about them." Harry replied.

"I am a Wizard and so were they." Moody replied.

Harry observed the man then frowned.

"You don't look like one." Harry noted. "Aren't Wizards supposed to have hats? You have got the staff down right."

The boy's last comment made Moody slightly smile, _intelligent, observant, and easily puzzled._ Just like his father.

"I am a Auror. Our robes are different compared to most Wizards and Witches. We're more modern than you think we are." The boy's brows lowered as did the size of his eyes. "I am a wizardly police man. Someone sent a letter claiming you were being hurt and we had to investigate it. Would you like to come with me?"

Harry turned toward the way to the kitchen.

"But, I can't just _leave_ them." Harry said.

Moody stared down upon the boy.

"If you stay one more day then you're not just going to have a face burn from a pan, Potter." Moody said. "Do you have any belongings?"

Harry's eyes shifted toward the slightly ajar door to his cupboard then shifted toward Moody.

"No, sir." Harry replied. "Just the clothing on my back."

"Call me Moody, please drop the sir here, we aren't in the bloody military." Moody replied. "Wizards don't refer to the other by sir. Knights do that sort of thing."

"Yes, Auror Moody."

Moody shifted toward the direction of the doorway that Harry had stared in then lowered his gaze upon him.

"All you need to do is wait here." Moody instructed.

"And my room?" Harry asked.

"Leave it to a Wizard, because that is what you are, Harry Potter. You're a Wizard and Wizards can do anything long as Muggles don't see it." Then Moody amended. "This doesn't apply to first years."

Then Moody walked on into the corridor, paused, then shifted toward Harry and back toward the inside of the cupboard. He transfiguroed away the belongings so that they became a lot of bats. He smiled watching them cling on to the roof of the room then closed the door with care. He unlatched the door then made his way down which was a short walk in all. Moody's hand grasped along the handle then he withdrew the door facing the family that were eating their breakfast. It was Dudley who lifted his gaze up and shrieked then the rest of the family shifted their gaze upon him in horror.

"Hello, I am Auror, the minister of magic has been made very well aware of Harry Potter's treatment in your household and he won't be staying a minute longer."

Vernon shifted toward the man.

"Are you one of those Dark Wizards?" Vernon asked.

"No. " Moody said. "Light Wizards."

"Take him for all we care." Vernon said turning away.

"However, if we find that Harry has any old wounds on him then you will never have custody on him. Ever." Moody said. "I will see to it that you never see him for the rest of your lives."

"Good. Take him away. " Petunia reiterated for Vernon. "He has always been a shoddy cook."

"And those letters better be gone by the time your investigation is over." Vernon added in.

"They will be." Moody said in disgust.

With that done, set and content, he turned away then walked out of the kitchen. James's belongings had been more than his son in quantity and had taken several boxes including a suitcase to empty. His son had nothing just the clothing on his back. Moody strolled his way out of the house then silently closed the door behind him. He came to the boy's side then handed the box to him.

"I am a Wizard?" Harry asked.

Moody picked up the letter and observed how it were addressed to the boy then handed it to Harry and Harry stared at it in shock as his brows rose up.

"And so much more." Moody said, smiling, looking upon the thin child. "So much more. " He held a hand out. "I am taking you to headquarters for a full medical examination and treatment."

Harry took Moody's hand then Moody apparated away with him.

* * *

John the Auror, or more called as daddy, or Johnny the Bearfoot, Johnny Lee Barfoot, returned with a job well done with his robes soaked from the not easy task of acquiring a criminal wizard. He applied a dry charm then a stain charm upon his robes so that his robes were warm and clean. He sighed in relief being met with the busy air of the Auror office then strolled through the crowd with a whistle. He made his way to his cubicle then spotted the new paperwork that had piled up.

"Did you hear, Johnny?" Maybell asked. "The news that is spreading around the office?"

John stopped in his tracks then shifted toward the source of his co-worker.

"No, I have not." John replied then lifted a brow upon the taller woman. "What is all the buzz about, Maybell?"

"It has been recently discovered that Harry Potter has been abused by the Dursleys for _years_." Maybell looked around as John's skin turned white then she shifted her attention back on to him. "Between you and me, you should have seen our magical medical examiner. He was swearing a storm once he came out of the examination room."

John swallowed the bile down his throat.

"It was _that_ bad?" John asked.

Maybell brought him over to the corner of the large sprawling office then nodded quite gravely.

"He was small and thin compared to how most eleven year olds should be!" Maybell announced.

His eyes flashed open.

"That is outrageous!"

"Exactly as the currently anonymous letter said about his living conditions." Maybell said. "Claimed in it that Dumbledore was full aware of this abuse."

"Professor Dumbledore! The headmaster of Hogwarts?" John exclaimed. "The Head of Mugwump? That man was aware of abuse did nothing of it?"

"Yes."

"Was he aware?" His brows hunched together.

"We don't know at this point if he did but we have a inkling that he . . ." Maybell looked aside, grimacing, then wincing.  
"may have, unfortunately."

"And where is Harry at this time?" John asked.

"Currently being held in a emergency family home at this time." Maybell replied. "Nobody knows outside of the Aurors. Just the family and Harry are aware of his current location."

"It should stay that way," John said. "If you know," he held his hand up. "Don't even think of dropping a hint."

"I wouldn't think of it." Maybell said. "The last time I did, you adopted the children and aggressively pampered them."

"It worked, eh?" John asked, sheepishly.

"They were miserable in the chosen family that was selected for them and ran away to your place!" Maybell said. "It was a scandal for the longest time."

"Alls well ends well." John grinned, broadly, then proceeded to walk away heading toward his cubicle passing by Maybell. "Martin and Anne are healers right now doing quite exceeeeeellent jobs." he gave back the 'okay' sign in mid-air, cheerfully, as he walked on from Maybell. "No sign of the worse on them!"

John took a beeline into the closet then silenced the door space beside him, yanked the light on, and screamed. He screamed in ways that he hadn't since the first wizarding war including the build up to it in front of the horror that became more apparent to him once comparing the events in history that he had learned from in History class and what he had personally seen manifest in the 21st century. He kicked boxes aside and shattered glass until all that pent up rage was gone. Softly, he casted spells that repaired the equipment and the decorations with mere variations of "Reparo" with words alongside it.

The silencing spell was withdrawn then he exited the closet and let out a sigh of relief. He combed his hands through his hair then smiled as a fact became more evident. His son was going to be extraordinary happy about Harry being removed from the care of the Dursleys--then he frowned, only they had known about the boy being used as a servant. He sighed lowering his head as it became apparent only one of them was furious with the tragic story of Harry Potter. _We're going to have a chat about that._ His shoulders lowered then he proceeded to walk through the somewhat empty hall then paused spotting a young boy with frizzy hair seated in a chair with his shoes bouncing together. He paused then shuffled through his pocket searching for Wizardly candy.

  
"Hello." John said as he took a Wizarding Sucker and Wizarding Kisses from his pocket. "Like some candy?"

The boy looked up toward John.

"Are they safe to eat?" The boy asked.

John took out another Wizarding Hershey Kiss from his pocket then peeled it open and chewed a few moments once seating down alongside the young boy.

"It's as delightful as a genuine kiss." He took out another Wizarding Hershey Kiss. "Warm, pleasing, the Wizarding Hershey kisses are more than double the size of Muggle Hershey Kisses."

The boy took the offered handful of chocolate then set it into his lap.

"I haven't had this much chocolate before."

"Your parents may have had a good reason not to introduce Wizarding Chocolate."

The boy looked up toward John with wonder and curiosity in his eyes.

"What kind of reason?"

"They are addicting compared to Muggle Chocolate."

"Addicting?"

"They pale in comparison." Harry looked up toward John quite curious as the older man smiled looking aside quite fondly. "They are even more useful after recovering from the jailers of Azkaban."

"Jailers of Azkaban?"

"It's like Alcatraz but rougher, crueler, and. . ." He paused. "There was a television show called Sleepy Hollow that ran for four seasons."

The boy nodded.

"It betrayed the fans. It betrayed the premise. It betrayed the characters. Season 3 was a swan song and we all knew that with the way things were going for Leftenant Abbie Mills of Sleep Hollow Police Department and her boyfriend Ichabod Crane. In little words, friend, they made her say that she was character development for him and had to leave and SHE DIED."

"Does this have to do with Azkaban?"

"I am getting there. The fans lost interest, changed channels, streamed, and campaigned against the show."

"And it got cancelled?"

"No. It was renewed for Season 4. They changed the setting to Washington DC, got Crane a partner who was. . ."

"You missed a step."

"Yes, I did." John nodded, gravely, shifting his attention upon the boy. "Abbie Mills -- the character-- was a black woman. And this new woman they replaced her with was white."

The boy slowly nodded.

"I see what they did." Harry said

"They had hints of them becoming a couple, they had the hints of being soulmates, they worked very well together, then the networked ripped them apart just like _that_."

John snapped his fingers.

"Now, the show became about Crane. It became a creature that was half dead, half alive, trudging in the mud covered in yuck and burns and scars and wounds uniminagable. Comparable to someone who had faced a nuclear bomb and survived. It kept on going and going and going and going as it suffered episode by episode by episode. Now, add rain to that."

"That is horrible!"

"It became a shadow of itself. It became a creature that Abbie saw in Purgatory."

"What is Purgatory like?"

"No one knows. Sleepy Hollow purgatory was a forest with a church and a pit full of mud."

"Was the show crawling in mud?"

"Yes. It was."

"So Azkaban is like that?"

"To the mind, to the soul, to the body."

"I wouldn't wish that upon anyone."

"Neither do I. . . Except for Death Eaters. They are the rubbish that deserve it. Anyone who spews hate of Muggleborn deserve it."

"But, you hate them. You're no better if you hate them."

"I hate those who want to instill a Holocaust, a Nazi Germany, in this world." John replied with a glare upon the boy. "I have seen the beginnings of Nazi Germany and lived through it-- _twice_."

He held up his two fingers.

"And I don't want it here." John leaned back into the booth and folded his arms. "Besides, I like this place. I like the spells, the magic, the Goblins, the house elves, and the creatures."

"So, with that fan campaigning, how was the show killed?"

"Off with its head!" And John laughed as his figure shook. "You should have _seen it._ Social Media partying over the cancellation, Charles and I cheered over it." 

John leaned forward, smiling from ear to ear, his elbows on his knees looking back fondly. He rubbed his hands as the boy ate the pieces of chocolate listening to the older man.

"Fans have more power than they think they do. Like summoning the creation of Star Trek: Strange New Worlds, Snyder's Justice League, and the resurrection of Brooklyn Nine-Nine all with its soul. Charles and I went on a round of roller skating like complete dorks we were and had a nice contest to the park on the side walk."

John sighed.

"Anyway, the jailers were kind of like those creatures from the Lord of the Rings except they can fly, they have no face, no legs, just a black cloak and a hood that sucks good memories out so much until all that is left is the soul and they extract it."

"Oh."

"That is called a Dementor's Kiss."

"What happened to Harry Potter's parents?"

"The Dark Lord killed them then, with the act of love protecting him, the boy destroyed Voldemort. He was sent off his abusive relatives." He closed his eyes, his hands rolling up into fists, in silent anguish and distress of what had been a boy's lifetime. "Rotten family. If only . . ." _If only we remembered that and spared him._ "Things should have gone a lot differently."

"It should have."

"What is Lord of the Rings?"

"Is your parent a Auror?"

"Yes, sir."

"Can't hurt but introduce you to the greatest piece of literature. It's like Shakespeare but in Middle Earth. I am sure your dad will appreciate being introduced---why haven't your parents introduced the books to you?"

"They think I don't deserve to have a overactive imagination like that. They fear I'll take it too far. But, I wouldn't. I know what is real and what's not."

"Do you, though?"

"I have a sharp mind, sir."

With that clarified, the sincere tone, John smiled.

"Please, call me Bearfoot." John held his hand out.

And the boy shook his hand.

"Okay, Bearfoot."

"It's Auror Barfoot, officially, but for kids your age; it's Bearfoot." The boy carefully put the unwrapped pieces of chocolate into his pocket. "Got that nickname from a deceased Auror friend of mine."

"Who?"

"That man was James Potter and he was a sore loser at marbles no matter what Remus Lupin argues. He cheated."

"What else was he?"

"He was pretty much a dork and had his moments as a Auror before he went into hiding with Lily."

John looked back quite fondly at a memory.

"One time, he thought a snake that was hanging out of Professor Snape's hood was you-know-who and he transfiguroed it into a cat." The boy and John laughed in unison at the amusing story as they got up from the seat then walked on from where they had initially met. It was John who's laughter faded then grinned looking upon the boy. "This way, I have some Muggle coins on me for the trilogy."

John took the boy by the hand as he were guided mercilessly through the corridor and out of the building to outside. They apparrated at the bookstore then John walked in briskly into the store then shook himself off and the boy mirrored him to a tea. They dragged their shoes against the floor then the boy looked over spotting they had stepped into a mud puddle coming into the building. The manager of the bookstore was busy reading away as the boy tagged along after John.

"Hm, Tolkien, Narnia---NARNIA! Oh, it's so good to see you, old friend. Sorry, can't buy you. Already got a copy waiting at home to be reread for the thousandth time."

He slid the book down as the boy looked in awe at the building that was full of books. The boy stared in awe at the collection of novels that surrounded him tuning out the older wizard who hummed to himself. "Atlas Shrugged---no. I-Robot, no. The haunting of Hill House--I don't know about that."

The boy was drawn about the room paying no heed to John's comments as he shuffled the books back into place then became silent himself searching for the right novel to pick out. He was silent staring at the spines of the books with his fingers sliding down the corners of the individual books. He wandered about the room admiring the various titles for several minutes at a time. After around a hour, John found the books that he wanted with a 'ah ha!' and snatched them off the bookshelves then slipped them along his arm. He turned around spotting the boy staring at the ceiling leaned back observing the portrait.

John smiled then approached the boy. He put a hand on his shoulder and the boy instantly jumped then turned around and faced the direction of the Auror with a gasp, wide eyes, terror in his eyes. A look that was completely unnatural for a child of his age.

"Sorry about that." the boy apologized.

"It's fine." John assured the little boy. "I would dooze off if a friend of my family would do that. It's okay, kiddo."

"Kiddo. . ." the boy repeated and it drew the older man's concern.

"That's a word of endearment." John said.

"Kiddo." He watched as the world was slowly being reordered in the boy's eyes. "I haven't heard it that way."

"There is no other way it can be heard. Come on, this way. Your parents sound very stiff." He went to the counter before the boy could say another word. "Here to buy three books and Haunting of Hill House."

The book manager lowered the novel then stared at John.

"Bearfoot?"

"Remus Lupin, the man who makes a living scaring the living darkness out of me when I least EXPECT it!"

"I thought you moved to Wizarding novels!" Remus exclaimed as John chuckled in response.

"You can't beat the classics." John said with a grin. "And they are for a friend."

"I heard you just adopted a boy." Remus squinted back at the older man. "How come I never heard of him? Or the adoption process?"

"It's all hush hush for a very good reason." John replied with a shake of his hand. "Just came from Baghdad."

"That poor boy." Remus said, with sympathy. "I can't imagine surviving Muggle Warfare as a child and living to speak about it. Trouble is I can imagine surviving the Wizarding War as a child."

"Yes. . . " John grew quite quiet as he looked aside with a long face at the dark and tedious past that was quite haunting. He shifted his attention on to Remus quite grave. "It was quite traumatizing to him so he doesn't remember the incident. There was a biological agent released and he got terribly sick before we got him."

"What is his name, Bearfoot?"

"Robert Noori."

"Sounds lovely."

"How much are the books?"

"That would be a hour of your time talking about your new son."

And that brought a smirk from John.

"Then I am dropping fifty pounds and introduce you to him before we go to Kings Cross." John replied to Remus. "That's better than me talking about him! Check and mate!"

John placed the books on the counter with a loud thud as the books landed in a neat file on to the counter then proceeded to take out the fifty pound sterlings from his pocket depositing them alongside the novels. The doorbell ring as other customers entered the room in a single large crowd of people. Remus took the pounds as he started to laugh. The boy stuck closed to John but turned around then walked off getting close to several comic books that were on the shelves that he hadn't noticed in his initial view of the place.

"Is that Robert?" Remus asked.

"No." John said. "That is a kid from one of the Aurors. Robert is much taller and bigger than he is."

"Teenager, then?"

"No, eleven." John took the bag with the books as his smirk grew into a proud and affectionate grin on the topic of his newly adopted son. "I am thinking of getting that poor kid icecream but I have already given him my candy so that's a bit overkill."

"All of it or just some of it?" Remus asked.

"Most of it." John said to the surprise of the older man.

"You never hand over most of your candy," Remus was in disbelief.

"And chocolate." John added, light heartedly.

"It's unheard of coming from you!"

"It's just once." John shrugged then approached the boy. "I am feeling very generous today." He came to a pause. "Hey, kiddo. I am right behind you."

"What are those over there?" The boy turned toward John.

"Comic books." John replied as Remus stared at the boy with the familiar face.

"Comic books. . . " The boy replied as Remus rubbed his eyes. "What is a comic book?"

"It's a book made of pictures." John replied. "Artwork with writing in bubble in them."

"Was James interested in comic books?" The boy asked.

"I didn't really know him in his Hogwarts years, kiddo." John replied, honestly. "But, he always had them on hand when we rescued a kid your age." His features softened on the memory that flickered across his mind as a smile spread from corner to corner of his lips. "He even sang spells to cheer kids up when he were left alone with them," The boy took John's hand as they started to out of the building. "He was very fond of Mary Poppins and Bedknobs and Broomsticks."

"Bed knobs and Broomsticks?" The boy asked.

"It was a Muggle film." John replied. "Let's get you back to the Aurors office. Your parents must be looking all over you."

"They're not." Was the boy's reply. "They don't care for me."

Remus's eyes flashed open at the side profile of the boy as a image of a boy similar to him super imposed over him as he were walking away.

"Harr--"

The ding and the distinctive sound of apparating away came to. They returned to the Aurors office with the bag with Aurors speeding around the office. The boy clung against John's figure as they navigated their way through the crowd as John was still dealing with the sudden reply from the boy. _Wizardly parents who didn't care for the boy? The words were blunt and quite honest as if he felt that he were a waste of space, not quite original, just a plastic bag drifting through the wind._

Once they were in the middle of a cleared corridor, John looked down toward the boy and noticed how thin that he was, how his gray shirt clung to him quite baggy almost a size or two too big. He took the boy back to where he had found him to discover a large crowd gathered at where they had once been.

"Kiddo." John started, slowly. "Who gave your parents the right to keep a Wizarding child like you?"

The boy was quiet.

"No one."

"People care for you. Lots of people do. That's what people are built for, made for, created for; to be cared about. That is what living is; caring. And once we stop caring about the other then everything falls apart and people die because we don't care if they are above poverty, if they are being stalked, if they are being discriminated against, if they are being racially profiled --"

"You will be some day, if you walk out in the dark with a hood on and hold a phone in your hand the Muggle authorities will shoot you down with hundreds of bullets and claim they were tensed, they were scared, no, they just wanted you out of the way. That's the scary thing about existing. Because you're not like me. You're not white and you have to be extremely careful in the world. Don't wear a hood, don't go alone, make sure you have something to record your side of the story, be polite, be respectful--any of that will keep you safe."

"And when people stop caring about other people as children and focus on their differences; Death will take us in and chaos will rage behind them. That's the talk. And I am ashamed that I must tell you all that because children aren't supposed to be living targets when they have a toy gun on them and it's very obvious but the police just hate they are there then kill them in cold blood."

The boy was quiet.

"But, you're a Wizard. You will get to apparate from place to place, won't face police brutality, the horrors of the Muggle world. And I care about you enough to tell that's good."

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"Nobody has given me the talk about the birds and the bees."

"Kiddo, that wasn't the birds and the bees."

"Then what is the birds and the bees?"

"You're not old enough to hear it."

The crowd turned and faced him as John laughed loudly. He felt a hundred eyes set on him including the eyes of a familiar face set upon him with a long beard and hair that were gray just as the boy's shirt. He looked down toward the boy then took his wand out feeling quite tense but very afraid for the boy as he stepped in front of him. The boy peeked behind John facing the large group.

"John, where have you had Harry Potter?"

"That isn't Harry Potter."

"He is."

"Dumbledore, you have been wrong so many times. I can hardly believe you. That is a regular kid. He isn't a chosen one. He isn't a grown Wizard! He isn't ready to be thrust upon with the boy-who-lived as fame."

"John, hand over the boy, please." Dumbledore requested.

John looked toward Harry then faced toward Dumbledore as he slipped out a piece of chocolate.

"Take this, Harry, and hide." John whispered. "I will join you: soon."

Harry took the item then he were thrust back and crashed somewhere hard. He fled down the nearest door, swung the door closed, then sped into the cellar, and into the next door closing the door behind him. His heart was beating as he clutched on to the piece of candy feeling as though he were yanked somewhere that was quite different in a storm. Harry spotted a tunnel then sped on taking it as the door magically closed behind him.


	5. mud and bacteria and fear

Thunder and rain became familiar companions to me the following day. Daddy was out at work hunting down a criminal with fury that had once aided him as a football coach and as a football player in Jacksonville, Mississippi. The thought of Daddy tackling a dark wizard head first into the spine brought up laughter as I leaned against the chair looking out the window. And Dad? Well, he wasn't exactly happy that it was raining. A small cloud loomed over him raining just as bad as it was outside as he sat on the couch with his arms folded complaining, "Stupid rain." Scarface sat on Dad's shoulder loudly purring -- and I mean loudly -- rubbing his back underneath his chin as he were soaked by the rain clouds.

Dad brought me the following afternoon to a place that was full of mud even featured Wizards chatting about as they rested on park benches while their children were flinging balls of mud after the other. I looked in awe observing the mud castles and mud forts that decorated the landscape. I felt along my pocket for the magical hand sanitizer that I had purchased a large quantity of prior to leaving Diagon Alley. The jar of magical hand sanitizer met my fingers with the cold and smooth texture standing out to it. I came to a pause spotting three familiar figures standing on the top of the mud fort.

"OMAR! JESSIE! JANET!"

The three heads turned in my direction.

"Robert!" They shrieked.

I was crashed to the grass by the collective trio and laughed.

"What are you doing in Scotland?" Jessie asked.

"Living!" I was helped up to my feet by Jessie. "I can't believe you're here!"

"Us three!" My crew announced.

I hugged each member of my crew then paused with my hand on the side of Omar's shoulder.

"Why are you in Scotland instead of London?" I asked.

"Because throwing mud at the other is pretty fun!" Omar exclaimed with a wicked grin. "I have been practicing writing in cursive for SIX months! Six months!" Omar waved his hands from side to side with five of his fingers up and his other hand with some of his fingers curled up against the palm leaving only his thumb up. "Six months without fail and I have JUST FINALLY became so adjusted to it that I wrote in cursive the answers to my last test in school!"

Omar always had a way of making people laugh when he said good news but made it sound inconvenient. He was the most incredibly lucky man that I had known save for that deadly car accident. I felt a warmth spread from my chest to all over me feeling like I were surrounded by old friends as the feeling became tinged by sorrow that was soft and gentle with the passage of time. I was slowly becoming emotional surrounded by members of my old crew.

"Seven months," Jessie snorted. "You got here right after I did."

"Six months, technically!" Omar persisted. "I was writing in short hand for the first month." Omar folded his arms then scowled. "Couldn't get rid of text messaging speak for the longest time."

"I missed you." I said, feeling tears stinging my eyes as my vision blurred.

"Hey, buddy, we missed you too." Janet said.

And I felt them close in on me in a hug as I wiped my tears away then started to sob with my arms around Omar. We were that way as I let myself break and cry and sob. And I started to feel that maybe, now, the events that had happened; Sirius Black dead, Harry Potter being transferred to a better Wizarding family, my friends alive, my parents alive, maybe everything wasn't going to be so tragic, bleak, and dark in the future for me with the second rise of Voldemort. The hug eventually dissipated.

"Like to make a mud castle with us?" Jessie asked. 

"We have already started on the tower." Omar added.

"Yes!" I declared. "Lets make that mud castle!"

"Wooohoo!" the group cheered and went on to the large project.

* * *

Roughly five hours after we had arrived to the mud fort, dad and I departed the area covered in mud, I clenched on to his pantleg as we apparated back to the house. Dad froze like a stop sign, his hands clenching on to my hand, staring at the direction of the house. I looked on spotting there were a group of people with trench coats knocking determinedly on the door as the mud from the storm decorated the skirt of the house.

"Robert, go to the Squib next door."

"Why?"

"Just, go." I never seen him turn so white. "Now!"

His grip on my hand relaxed then I made a break for it heading in the direction of Mr Fisher's house. I fled further and further down the slope, slipping, tripping, then got back up to my feet with some stumbling. I made it down to the grassy plain as my shoes became embedded in the mud. I struggled out of the mud then crashed to my feet landing on the grass. I spotted the fenced in area ahead of me so I got back up and flew toward the entrance to the area then ran to the front door and knocked rapidly. The door opened up and a young man with blonde hair opened the door looking upon me.

"Oh, you must be Robert Noori!" Mr Fisher replied.

"Yes." I said. "There are strangers in trench coats in front of the house."

"Get in, quickly." Mr Fisher beckoned me in.

I did as requested then the younger man -- gosh, I am a kid. I should be referring to him as a older man. Have to shake that off -- closed the door behind me then he shifted toward me.

"Got your wand on you?"

"Yes, I do."

"I like you to aim at your clothing and say scourgify."

"Alright." I aimed the wand at my articles of clothing then muttered. "Scourgify." In mere moments, the mud was gone and but my pant legs were still torn. "Aw. . ."

"Say Pantalon Reparo." Mr Fisher instructed.

"Pantalon Reparo." I aimed the wand at the pant legs then watched as the material was repaired. "Where did you learn that?"

"My older sister was a Witch." Mr Fisher replied. "I like you to sit in the dining room and wait there." he pointed toward the corridor that lead away from the doorway to the house. "I have some dinner left over. You can have some if you like--I had only started having dinner."

"I would love to have lunch with a neighbor." I replied. "Do you have a partner?"

"My partner and I don't see eye to eye very much that I can see things they can't. Think I am a little cookoo." he twirled a finger alongside his head as we walked into the dining room. "We are having a amicable break."

"Why?" I asked as I went to the nearest chair then sat down into it.

Mr Fisher retrieved a plate then set it at my seat.

"There's a statue of secrecy." Mr Fisher said.

"That's stupid." I said as Mr Fisher sliced in half a sandwich. "If you can see magical things then why didn't you find a better way of telling her that then by saying shit like: That's a nice moving portrait."

Mr Fisher lifted his head up as his eyes flashed open in a moment of shock.

"I did. . ." He started in shock. "How--"

"It takes a idiot to know what a idiot would say." I said as he seated down in the chair alongside me. "You deserve that break. It's your own fault." I pointed toward him then leaned back and folded my arms against my chest looking at him quite perplex. "Why don't you go to Squibs anonymous and find yourself someone to say that stupid stuff to?"

Mr Fisher was quiet for a long moment.

"I'll consider that." Mr Fisher said. "If I get divorced. What kind of idiot are you?"

"I imagine myself to be the one who overestimates myself." I said. "Example, block of pure fudge."

Mr Fisher laughed, loudly, as his fist smacked against the table, his figure trembling with laughter. 

"Fudge is that way." Mr Fisher said as he wiped off his joyful tears with a napkin.

"What do you overestimate yourself with?" I asked.

"Saying good things at the wrong time." Mr Fisher replied. 

I pitied the younger man in ways that I hadn't pitied others.

"Yeah." I said.

A loud knock echoed through the house.

"I'll get that." Mr Fisher said.

I carefully out two brownies, two cookies, and a slice of a sandwich on my plate and slid back a bottle of water. I pitied the Squib. Did Squibs get married in the Wizarding world to Muggles or to their own? I don't recall that many Squibs in the movies least that I can recall.

Mr Fisher's voice was coming from down the hall so I carefully tip toed after him with brownie in hand and take a few more bites out of it. It was delicious---It had been so long since I had a brownie. The last time that I had a brownie was before turpentine started, before the stay at home orders, before essential businesses were open. I looked on spotting him speaking to tall figures in the doorway and their voices were loud enough to warrant attention.

"Did you see a child enter the Barfoot residence?"

They were quite stiff and somber as if they were on a very serious matter.

"Not at all."

I quietly tip toed away back into the dining room and sat down into the seat.

"However, they adopted a boy just last week from the Magical Orphanage of Boys and Girls." Mr Fisher replied. "He is paying me a visit for a little while."

"Did he have a scar on his head?"

"No."

"Then we have no interest in speaking to the boy."

"Good day."

"Good day, Mr Fisher."

The door closed then Mr Fisher returned to the dining room.

"So, how long am I going to be here?"

"Until next week Your parents told me if such a event that drew Aurors that you were to stay with me for a week."

"Are you implying that there is something illegal about me?"

"No, but they seemed to have made that implication themselves. Are you legal?"

"I don't know."

"Then let's not pursue this conversation."

"Agreed." I squirted out some hand santizer and rubbed my hands.

"Why are you doing that?"

"In Baghdad, there was a virus that went around and it killed people. We had to stay inside for months, do our best to kill the virus, try not to touch our face, and worst of all, stand six feet apart from the other." I slowly ate the fudge then swallowed. "Does this have any pork in it?"

"No."

"What about the sandwich?"

"Chicken."

I sighed, relieved.

"Thank Allah." I whispered.

"I have a room available for you in the basement." Mr Fisher replied. "The least that I can afford to you."

"I can make it work." I replied. "I have slept . ." I paused. "In much less ideal conditions."

"Where you part of the Bunker 25 bombing?" Mr Fisher asked.

"I don't know if I were." I shrugged. "What was that?"

"A civilian bunker that was attacked. Four hundred innocent people were murdered there by American Missiles. . . "

Mr Fisher stopped himself then smiled, apologetically, as I felt my stomach drop at the mere mention of it. I had all but forgotten about that bunker. I can still remember being in a daze days after the incident quite distant and vacant while everything was only background noise. I didn't recall much of anything before the event. It was a entire life that I had purposely blocked out and the only thing that I remembered was running through the street covered in my blood and wounded. I could still remember running on autopilot with panic running through me. It was only later did I discover the direction I had came from was a site of tragedy.

"I can't apologize for your loss but I. . . I can. . . I can hope that things get better." Mr Fisher said. "I feel for you."

I looked aside then turned my gaze upon him.

"I appreciate it." I said, smiling. "Truly, deeply, do."

* * *

A complete week afterwards, I returned to the house with my wand at the ready and Mr Fisher having retired to his house. I felt slightly terrified with my heart beating against my chest as the thought that had echoed across my mind for the last twenty-four hours repeated. Is my arrival to this world a kind of dark magic? Did my parents do dark magic once they got tired of being waiters and instead became doers? Was transferring between worlds of existence a big no-no? The thought of my parents being in trouble was _terrifying_.

A part of me wondered if Harry was still with the Dursleys if Dumbledore had anything to argue against removal or to a family that was _just_ like them in every way that would be more securely protected against anonymous reports about abuse. I wondered for the last week about the unwelcomed Aurors. Did they somehow find out that I was the one who sent the report? This question had been bothering me. I wondered if Dumbledore was angry that his plants were thwarted and wanted to retaliate or investigate or ensure my lack of intervention in his future, The thought of my parents being in trouble because of me was horrifying.

I raised my hand to the door once approaching it then knocked on it rapidly and withdrew my hand. i closed my hands quite terrified of what I would see when the door was opened. I was terrified, waiting for the worst to happen, waiting to see Dumbledore behind the door speaking to my parents who were trying to keep themselves together. I was so fucking scared than I had been---more than I had been when I started to feel the chest aching symptoms of the virus and the inability to breathe, the feeling of needles every time that I breathed and coughed, the lethargy, the sore throat, and the powerful headache. I hadn't forgotten the day long loss of smell or the inability to get up the days after the loss of smell had faded away.

The door opened then I was crashed into a hug and I cried.

"It's okay, Robbie." Daddy said. "It's okay."

"I-II-I-I-I-I-I'm sorry!" I apologized. "I n-n-nn-n-n-n-nnever meant to draw attention to myself! I am so sorry! I am sorry!"

"Robert, you did a good thing. Just don't do that kind of shit without us not knowing." Daddy said.

"I am sorry," I sniffled. "I never meant---"

"It's okay. He is not with them." Dad assured with one hand on my shoulder. "He is safe."

"Robert, is there any reason why you have a card in your bedroom?" Daddy asked.

"He is a therapist." I wiped my tears off with my sleeves. "I met him when I got my wands. I am sorry about scaring you that way."

"No, it should be us apologizing for giving you the scare." Dad replied. 

"We don't know how we got transported here as well when we were your age or our parents." Daddy said. "Thank god that they were old as we were when the war started. Thank God for that airplane accident happening the same way it did."

I finished sniffling.

"I. . . I. . . Are you okay?" I asked.

"A little worse for the wear from this emotionally terrifying period, but not bad." Daddy smiled.

"Robert, Mr Fisher called me and told me about your OCD tendencies." Dad replied. "You have been sanitizing your hand constantly."

"I have." I said.

"You have to stop that." Daddy said. "You'll frighten the Muggleborns who have genuine OCD problems."

"I can't." I said.

"Why?" Dad asked.

"I just can't!" I replied.

"Robert, why?" Dad asked.

"I WASN'T CLEANING MY HANDS AS OFTEN WHEN I CAUGHT IT!"

I started to fall feeling weightless falling into their chests.

"Matilda!" I heard Daddy as I cried into their chests.

"Yes, Master Barfoot?" Matilda asked.

"Please book a appointment with Doctor Gerald White." Daddy said.

* * *

I sat there in silence for most of the first session. Gerald's once short hair that was full of curls were held up in a man bun that suited him nicely. He was dressed in pure white clothing -- notably a matching suit with a black bowtie and a vest with a grandfather's watch -- that could have made me mistaken him for a famous malevolent entity by the name of Mr Roarke who were I discussing my fantasy in his office if I had no memory how I arrived here.

Gerald was waiting for me to speak and I was waiting for him to speak. 

He squinted (his rims inexplicably but perhaps magically followed his brows) then his demeanor faded.

Gerald cleared his throat.

"Your parents told me that you have just entered the Wizarding world." Gerald said.

"Yep." I agreed.

"Yet, you seem so inept for it." Gerald said.

I nodded,

"I agree, I make a terrible Wizard and you should say that."

"No, that is not what I am saying. Your parents told me that you wash your hands constantly after touching anything,"

I rubbed my hands, newly minted, lacking the cracks that had been seeded with my relentless washing,

"It's pretty safe to be vigilant." I said.

Gerald frowned, skeptically.

"Not when you do it too often. Wizards touch anything, Robert." Gerald reminded me. "And reuse equipment."

"Replacement school equipment?" My voice squeaked.

"Exactly." Gerald replied with a nod.

The implication that Hogwarts was full of viruses was horrifying. I looked aside with that train of thought quite terrified. I could only wonder how much of a grave yard it would be when Coronavirus entered through the doors for the first time and kill hundreds of students--Harry wouldn't let that happen. It would never happen on his watch nor would any of the senior staff. The assurance eased me as I leaned back into the chair folding my arms cooling my worries. I wanted to talk but a Squib Therapist knowing I wasn't from this reality wasn't exactly desirable. It made me the more reluctant.

"This is the first time you have heard of Hogwarts." Gerald changed the subject.

I looked back, back, back into my memory of first becoming introduced to the world of Harry Potter. The first trailer that I had seen with my long term girlfriend and my crew while waiting for the film to start. Wasn't it Spy Kids? Shrek? Atlantis? Lord of the Rings? 13 ghosts with Tony Shaloub? I started to smile as a memory of Monk crossed my mind. The entire population had Earth saw the world as he did when it came to bacteria after the super spreader event in Wuhan, China. My mind resumed guessing on the film that I had been waiting for. Zoolander? Ocean's Eleven? Hannibal? Osmosis Jones? The heartbreaking but horrifyingly decent Jeepers Creepers?

"No."

I couldn't be entirely sure what film that I were waiting for. My memory was foggy on what I had seen but the feeling of seeing something beyond my comprehension, confusion, and intrigue over the squealing of my girlfriend was memorable enough with rows of students in tables that were impossibly long. That was the most notable memory because normal principals aren't in attendance at lunch nor do students wear cloaks.

"Your parents must have discussed it a lot."

I looked back.

"Not often."

They weren't too much interested in the Wizarding world, they were sports fans before they were claimed by Death and the memes of Sirius and serious drew them abound with terrible dad jokes.

"Are you excited for your first term?"

"No."

Gerald tilted his head.

"Why?"

I was quiet for a solid moment.

"I wish I was reborn in the world where Gandalf existed, where the shire exists, where the hobbits existed--" I cut myself off. "I miss the shire."

"Isn't that a world where a evil eye and a evil wizard try to take over the planet?" Gerald asked. "There isn't going to be a war if that is what you're interested in."

"Yes," I smiled, fondly, looking aside to the long journey undertaken by Frodo, Pippin, Merry, Samwise, Gandalf, Legolas, Aragorn, Gimli, Gandalf, and Boromir. "it is. . . and there will be one in this one."

"Then why would you prefer to live in that?" Gerald was incredulous with a elbow leaned against the arm rest. "Faced with death by Muggle hands, clubs, fists, and spears--"

"Because it is better to be _known_ that I died and my body could be found than not to have been fought at all." I said. "That this something I found worth fighting for had a piece of me left to bury."

Instantly, I was thrown back to one of the scenes where the hobbits were on the run seeking to rid of the one ring with Gollum trailing behind them. I closed my eyes and I felt like I were there like I did when I first watched it being part of everything as a viewer just watching what adventure that was unfolding. I felt I were back in the theater eating my popcorn alongside my girlfriend with my crew around me as I leaned forward so utterly absorbed in the events of the film that were transpiring.

_"I know. It's all wrong. By rights we shouldn't even be here. But we are. It's like in the great stories Mr. Frodo. The ones that really mattered. Full of darkness and danger they were, and sometimes you didn't want to know the end. Because how could the end be happy. How could the world go back to the way it was when so much bad happened."_

_"But in the end, it's only a passing thing, this shadow. Even darkness must pass. A new day will come. And when the sun shines it will shine out the clearer. Those were the stories that stayed with you. That meant something. Even if you were too small to understand why. But I think, Mr. Frodo, I do understand. I know now. Folk in those stories had lots of chances of turning back only they didn’t. Because they were holding on to something."_

_"What are we holding on to, Sam?"_

_"That there’s some good in this world, Mr. Frodo. And it’s worth fighting for.”_

It was a shame that the Wizarding World at the end of the series just felt the same way, bleak, cheap, and quite dark, nothing like how I had initially seen it. Naming a son after the most manipulative wizard in the genre of fantasy was simply disgusting. And Harry knew about it through and through. There wasn't any of the good that I had seen worth fighting for in the beginning, the innocence, the safe haven, the qualities that made it worth standing up for.

It was full of idiots that allowed the escapist imaginary world to become something to not wish for living in. Helping the hobbits or the battle lead by Aragorn to protect the vulnerable would have been a dream come true even if I lost my life to the act. The world of middle world was so memorable because the good was still _there._ And that was a world I liked to be a Wizard in.

"Who says the Wizarding World has spells that leave no remains behind?" Gerald's voice snapped me out of my train of thought.

"A snake can make sure of that." I said as he frowned in response. "Living in the Wizarding World is what Christians call Hell."

"Why is it . . . _Hell_?" Gerald asked.

"Because I get to see the boy-who-lived be groomed, be manipulated, to . . . to. . . to become the chosen one."

"The chosen one?" Gerald asked, once more, leaning forward.

"There is a prophecy."

"What is the prophecy?" Gerald leaned to the side of the chair.

"I don't really recall. It has been a decade. . ."

"Since what?" Gerald's glasses raised in unison with his brows.

"Since the films entered my life . . ." His rims lowered. "but it is a reason why he went to the department that held them in the Order of the Phoenix."

Gerald frowned.

"What films?"

"Being held in the dark about the activities going on in the Order of The Phoenix and what everyone is discussing. Hiding in the shadows being told nothing. Being uncertain if his godfather is being tortured or not by Voldemort as he is plagued by visions during one of his classes since the last time it were Mr Weasley that he dreamed of." Then I elaborated. "Films that were adapted from a Transphobic Muggle's series of books."

I sighed in gratitude feeling the stare of the man quite younger than me and he looked so [ale.

"Frankly, I am actually happy that Sirius Black wouldn't have to die so tragically in front of his godson."

Life returned to Gerald's demeanor.

"Why do you dislike the headmaster so much?" Gerald asked.

I mulled the thought over.

"Do you know how to make a martyr?"

Gerald leaned back, adjusting his glasses, then crossed one leg over one knee.

"Yes." Gerald said. "But I like to hear it from you."

"Here is how you make a martyr." I cupped my hands together as I leaned forward then smiled. "Take away their loved ones at a really young age, discard them with family that pose harm to them let it be emotional, physical, or their minds. Give them a safe haven, tell them they have a parental figure that was deemed by law, show them a glimpse of what they could have, then tear them apart by circumstance, then separate them forever by death by sending them away unable to be retrieved."

Gerald's demeanor remained unchanged as I had talked.

"Ah, like how you lost your family?"

My smile became only more sorrowful.

"No." I shook my head. "I suppose my family were taken by Muggle weapons." I sighed, lowering my head, then lifted my attention up as he grew curious -- and so was I; _why was I a wizard in this life?_ \-- then he became solemn. "Now imagine this martyr exists in the Wizarding World."

Gerald nodded, slowly.

"I do." His voice was even softer.

"Imagine this parental was hit by a muggle fascist then falls into the veil before the child's eyes and the child screams in agony throwing unforgivable curses after one of them then sacrifices him self a few years later to protect what little that he has left. A seventeen year old dying by the wand of the person who took his family away. Imagine how his body falls in the middle of the forest and he isn't a Horcrux anymore."

I put my back against the chair and folded my arms feeling my eyes were stinging with tears at the injustice. Seventeen years old! SEVENTEEN YEARS OLD! That was far too young to die in the name of love, in the name of others, in the name of being a hero. Allah would have treated Harry Potter better with casual graphic scenes, troubles, and reprieve from those moments that healed his soul for brief periods then sent him free with faith once he were in better straights from Their hands. I watched Gerald become stiff.

"Imagine that boy, because his godfather is already dead, not sacrificing himself like a lamb. Because he still has _everyone_ that he needs. Imagine, the family of his friend take him in and provide the family role and he doesn't lose them. Imagine----Imagine him not giving up, imagine him dueling against the dark lord and being unable to kill him much to his confusion fighting to protect what little family that he has left."

I folded my arms then sighed and let the silence linger in the room.

"There's a eleven year old boy in the body of that seventeen year old doing all that he can to protect the people that he called family and friends. The Weasleys, Granger, and Hogwarts. Those stupid Dursleys will never stand up to par to all those people. Imagine that he is dis-wanded and dies with a brilliant light show. And his friends take down the dark lord then and there. And Harry wakes up after a few moments because he wasn't killed, the only thing that was destroyed was Voldemort's soul."

Gerald was staring at me.

"The Potters get their justice, I can live with that, but it's just so tragic that Harry has to be groomed and manipulated to become a martyr by Dumbledore."

He tapped his fingers on the notepad then leaned forward, curious, with his pen rattling against the paper

"How do you know that?"

I puckered my lips thinking it over then remembered, _patient confidentiality._ That made me smile, if only briefly, then it faded.

"The Harry Potter films. There is eight of them. Seven books in all."

"Seven."

"Yeah, seven."

"How many years do they cover?"

"Seven. Possibly eight."

"Interesting."

"If I could make a deal with Allah to trade places with him and fight against the Wizarding World's version of Hitler; I would do it."

"Why?"

"To punch him in the face just once."

"I don't think that he has a nose."

It hit me as a memory of his burn victim like face and the reminder caused me to smile.

"He doesn't."

"Seen him for yourself?"

I lifted my brows, incredulously.

"I remember a few memorable things---but that would mean being privy to the Order of the Phoenix which goes against one of my rules and I don't want to be part of a force made by the man who made a miserable childhood. I feel so unhappy thinking about Harry but happier for Sirius Black knowing that he never spent a day in Azkaban for switching the secret keeper role with a _rat_."

I ranted leaning against the arm of the chair.

"I am thankful that he never spent twelve years grieving in madness for the deaths of the two people that he loved the most in a place that was worse than Alcatraz."

Gerald was quite still during my ranting.

"Why?" Gerald asked. "Why force a child to become the hero and get no rewards from it?"

"I dunno." I shrugged.

"Is there anything else that bothers you?" Gerald asked, his voice softer.

"Harry doesn't open his letter today or any day after that until Hagrid comes. Which should be tonight. The Dursleys made sure of it."

"How?"

"By locking him in his room, maybe? Or not checking the mail? I don't know. It has been a long time since I watched Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone."

A loud alarm echoed in the room then Gerald smiled and clasped his hands on the arm rest.

"It appears that our session is over." He tapped on the machine between us then leaned back into the chair. "Do you think that you could talk about _yourself_ in the next session three days from now, Robert?"

"No." I replied with a shake of my head stifling back a laugh that only became a smirk instead.

"Things can change a month from now." Gerald said. "You have to talk. Eventually."

I stared back at the therapist.

"Did you have other veterans from the Wizarding War talk in this room?" I asked.

Gerald looked aside, ruefully, then shifted his attention upon me.

"Talking does wonders for trauma." Gerald replied. "And I have. _Tried_." he grimaced. "To make them talk."

"Do they pay for not talking?"

Gerald was quiet as he looked aside.

"I have." Gerald said.

I felt the entire sympathy and sorrow that Allah would have felt. Allah gave Their creations all that they needed, each other, women to propagate their bloodlines, the land, and the animals; but they had discarded what was the most prized gift that had been bestowed upon them; each other. I looked out spotting that it were raining hard outside of the building. Gerald sighed as his shoulders lowered looking down toward his hands.

"Is that how you became a Squib?" I asked.

Gerald lifted his attention up toward me then shook his head.

"No one really likes to talk about their feelings in the Wizarding World or have therapy." Gerald said. "The things we have seen, the things we have done to survive and fight for another day, that isn't the kind of thing a typical adult can hear. "

"Well, Gerald. . ." I started. "Why do you think therapists exist? There are people who want to listen. You are one of them."

"But there isn't one for me, Robbie." Gerald said. "The one who can ---" he stopped, briefly closing his eyes, sighing. "Has to be away from me for their own protection."

"Why?"

He bit his lip then smiled.

"What changed me into a Squib impacts those I love the most, even if I wanted to enter their lives again, they would become a Squib."

"Oh, like, how?"

"Breathing in the same space as them. It lingers in the air for a long time."

So just like the Coronavirus; he carries a virus that makes others into squibs but this time it isn't deadly or leave long lasting lung damage. I smiled, just a little, at the therapist. I felt so terrible that he had to have the Wizardly but benign version of the Coronavirus. Even though I were no longer haunted it or plagued by it, it was quite a thorn to see something similar to it. My smile faded replaced by a grimace.

"Three hours?"

"Four weeks."

"Owch." I winced.

Grimly, Gerald nodded.

"Owchie, yes."

I frowned just a little.

"Why don't you stay six feet away from them like a average person?" I asked. "You can love them, six feet apart, care for them, six feet apart, speak to them six feet apart; Morgana's castle, you could wear a face mask around them!"

I threw my hands into the air then folded my arms.

"Wear gloves!"

I leaned back into the chair, my hands folded in the corner of my elbow, then frown.

"Just because you're different doesn't mean you could keep them unaware that you're a Squib and had not died during the war!"

Gerald grimaced.

"That would be fairly weird to see someone dressed that way in open public, Robert." Gerald said. "I can't stop loving them. I can only do what is _best_ for them."

"Yeah, but not when it comes to love, where I come from people dated in cars side by side with their window-shields up, eating, talking by phone. Going to the hospital rooms by lift and waving back at them, by using skype, love makes people innovative and you're just---"

I stood up from the chair then threw my hands out mocking a explosive gesture and sighed as he stared me even more perplexed mouthing 'Skype?' but I went on.

"A very sad little man who _hardly_ gets a glimpse of the ones that he loves the most from a safe distance!"

"Why---yes, I do." Gerald held his finger up as he protested against my proclamation.

"Then how _is_ your loves ones doing, Gerald?" I asked.

Gerald opened his mouth then closed it and lowered his finger down.

"I don't know." Gerald admitted. "I haven't talked to them since the night I became a Squib."

I look at him in pity.

"In my experience, you can love about anyone and care for them having to be locked up in the same building for a month and appreciate their flaws," I said. "Because the only thing left if all the photos are gone is memories and you're not there---" my voice started to crack as I thought in parallel to the events after the visit to the veil. "It is as if you never existed. _Just_ like Sirius Black."

Gerald was curious but otherwise concerned in a way that I hadn't seen from him.

"What do you mean? No one ever talked about him after the film? No pictures? No camera video."

"I don't recall the last bits of the film but I remember that my girlfriend was all sad and all after we left the film and said Sirius Black's cameo was the most heart breaking scene that she had seen."

"Is that _all_?"

"If there were other notable cameos, such as more scenes of him talking in the fire place, I would have remembered that vividly."

"Thankfully, we're not cooped up in the same house." And his mood shifted quickly to a cheery disposition.

"Ilal Liqaa, Mr White." And I took the first step in making a client-patient relationship.

It was going to be long and difficult and emotionally heart wrenching for someone so young trying to put the pieces together even after the war had concluded. I was a forty-one year old pitying someone who was practically a young man in comparison in his early thirties. He was a kid in comparison in a swamp with wreckage and equipment to put everything back together and clean up the swamp. I turned away then opened the door and departed the room returning to the waiting room where I rejoined with dad and daddy.

"Feeling better?" Dad asked.

"Meh." I shrugged. "I have only just started."

I walked on ahead of them.

"Charles, maybe we should pick someone other than a Squib for his therapy?" Daddy asked.

"And get him medicated by a Muggle, Johnny?" Dad asked. "No, I won't have our son's mind be clouded daily."

"Then how about a _different_ Squib?" Daddy offered.

"He is fine." I spoke up turning toward them. "I don't feel quite ready to talk about my nightmare."

And together, we apparated away back to the house.


	6. Protecting Harry Potter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly don't know if I am respectfully writing a Muslim character enough. Had to extend the chapter count to 12 because it's taking them so goddamn long to get to Hogwarts.

"Good morning, Robert." My parents greeted me.

"Morning." I said as I sat down at the table.

"Robert, how would you feel if we had Harry Potter at our place?" Dad asked.

I spat out what I was drinking and grew horrified. Harry was like a parasite, but the parasite that people willingly wanted, a parasite that deserved better and he won't come out easily. We might as well have targets painted on our backs for the next seven years. It wasn't going to be disgusting to remove him from our lives if it came down to that, this much was certain, but it would be heartbreaking in all. I wanted to shrink until there was nothing left but a small tiny white lab rat with red eyes trembling in fear and never become a human for the foreseeable future.

"And there goes his breakfast." Daddy said, bemused.

"I'm sorry." I apologized, again. "I have gotten you all in danger."

"Robbie, this is a entirely different universe." Dad said "I knew the Potters."

"Who was the secret keeper?" I asked.

"We don't know." My parents replied.

"I heard it was a Squib." I replied. "But, it had to have been the rat. The Squib is just a smokescreen."

"Peter?" Daddy asked as he dropped his spoon. "As in Peter Pettigrew?"

"Yee--es." I replied. "He was the man who had the rat features in the Prisoner of Azkaban."

"Our memories are more shitty than we gave them credit to." Dad said as he sipped from his coffee. "Matilda, could you please get a doggy bag with the excessive breakfast and tuck it into the oven?"

"Yes, Master Barfoot." Matilda appeared then moved the left overs into the large white box and set them into the oven.

". . . Dad. . . . daddy. . . . Did you invent the doggy container before it was supposed to?"

"Someone had to start the trend decades early." Dad said. "Back in our younger years, we worked with Lily to invent a potion that created decomposable trash. "

"Still use it to this day." Daddy said with a smile as he raised his glass. "We just cover the wrapping with the potion a day or so before we intend to open it then rip it open and drop the trash on the ground."

"What does it decompose to?" I asked, curiously.

"The trash changes into grass seeds instead of what it would transform if it were hemp." Daddy said.

"Something that those foreign people invented with their newspaper." Dad cupped the side of his face then frowned. "Wasn't it China? Japan? I am not that sure anymore but it had to be one of the two."

"Either way, they had a good idea so we decided to continue that idea." Daddy said. "Robbie, where is Peter?"

"Wherever Ron is." I replied.

"Merlin, if I could return to work then I could apprehand him and start the wheels of justice."

"What's wrong, daddy?"

"He has been suspended without pay. Fortunately, we saved up money for THAT too."

"Daddy, you still could turn him in. Then the events of the Prisoner of Azkaban could still come into play because somehow he will escape."

"Three years, he will be a crazed maniac." Dad shook his head. "Thought I knew the man."

"I always knew that he were a rat." Daddy said. "Ratting out the Maruaders from time to time. He was lucky that he wasn't ratted out, either!"

"Ah, but he has been ratted out," I said. "By me."

"I wonder what poor Squib that he mentioned was so shocking that the first person who heard it left the name out." Dad said.

"We will never know." Daddy said.

"Where exactly is Harry Potter?" I asked.

My father smiled.

"After breakfast."

* * *

Breakfast went by slower than it did on many days. Once we were done, I followed them down the door to the basement. Dad unhooked a lantern then tapped the side of his wand against it. The door magically opened before our eyes with slow and deliberate laziness that I could clock it as taking thirty-five minutes to open. It wasn't magical, it was natural magic far as I could tell. The door finally swung open then Dad lead the charge on into the long tunnel. I stood outside of the tunnel clenching on to the edges of my shirt with a tremble and felt like a little boy for the first time since I got here. Daddy turned toward me then approached me and took me by the hand.

I followed him in looking around as I felt chills come down noticing the pipes in the room and strange shapes that stood out against the dirt. I turned my head away as we went further into the tunnel that grew cold and colder by the passing minutes. Abruptly, we came to a pause then I opened my eyes observing the heat inside the room was warmer than it was before.

I looked around in awe spotting cargo boxes around the area. Dad and Daddy lead the line forward ducking through doorways seeking through Harry. "Harry!", "Hari!", "Harry Potter!", "HARRY JAMES POTTER, WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU?" calling for the boy. It was almost like they were playing marco polo with the Wizarding World's most difficult hide and seek game with a member who didn't have the guts to join calling his name out. Calling his name out seeking for him would be the final nail in the coffin that Harry Potter was now part of my parents lives. Never in thirty years did I think of that be capable of happening.

I wondered about the area even looking out the windows potting houses on the distance with moons that were present---I paused then looked down the hall that my parents had gone and shifted my attention back on. I could see four moons in total standing out against the blue sky but obvious they were just like the moon on a good day on Earth. It caused me to smile quite a lot. I stood in front of the window absorbing in the sun rise that lit up the sky which changed hue to the sun rising.

Ah, so that is what happened to the people they helped. Children were running around swaying black sticks in the air that caused golden sparks to erupt with small tiger-like felines running around their legs and longs that reminded me of oriental short hairs. I strayed away searching for a exit and make my way outside only getting further down into the corridor until it were pitch black. The view was dark enough that I reached my arms searching for a surface to touch and move.

"Daddy, is there bathrooms in here?"

"Course! I don't smell anything funky in here so there is a very great chance that he found it!"

"You should have given him the map to the facility." Dad said.

"I didn't have the time! He is smart! He is beautiful! He is pret---"

"If you finish that goddamn quote from the help then you have nothing to say." Dad cut him off.

"-ENIOUS, Charles!" Daddy finished.

I stumbled forward tripping over something long and hard landing down to my knees with a loud yelp and stumbled down what was apparently stairs. I crashed to the bottom of what had to be the staircase then lifted myself up and shook off the nauseating feelings.

"Robbie!" I heard Daddy's distant cry.

"Sorry about that." Came a familiar voice that I hadn't heard in ten years.

Had it _only_ been ten years ago that I watched Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone? Lights flicked on then I squinted at the figure that was up the stairs ahead of me. My fathers came down the stairs then Dad took out his wand and aimed it at my face, "Episky! Scourgify! Episky! Scourgify!" I didn't pay attention to the fading pain as I stared at the figure at the top of the stairs. It was hard to see with my vision being so blurry--Oh, I am not wearing lens. I lifted a finger and pointed it at the top of the stairs. 

"Feel better?"

I stared on toward the blurry brown figure.

"Is that Harry Potter?" I asked.

Daddy turned away from me.

"Harry! THERE YOU ARE!" Dad charged after Harry and caught the boy right as he started to run. "Don't be a fool and run away from a free hug."

"It's free?" Harry asked.

"No strings attached." Dad replied as we joined him.

"We're overjoyed that you didn't go off far!" Daddy announced.

"Hi," I said, as Dad backed off out of the hug. "I am Robert Noori."

"Harry Potter," Harry held his hand out and---bam, once I was close enough, I saw the face of Daniel Radcliffe when he was a boy. It had been only so long ago. I smiled, _I would go through the ruins of hell to make sure Harry didn't. If I could._ Seeing that familiar face made my smile turn into a radiant grin. "Happy to meet you."

I took the boy's hand then shook it.

"Welcome to the fam." I said.

"But the Dursleys---" Harry started to say but was sadly interrupted.

"Are not your family. " Dad said, firmly.

"Never were." Daddy said.

" _Ever_." I emphasized.

"That was a matter of convenience for your mother's protection charm." Dad said. "You see, your mother sacrificed herself to protect you. Now, her blood is---"

"Was." Daddy corrected.

" _Was_ the thing that was protecting you." Dad amended. "But, it really isn't the thing that protects you."

"It is the family part of it that protects you." Daddy said. "Not the blood. It is the love part. You can be part of ours, we got a house elf, owls, a magical cat--we got magical things to show you and shower you with."

Harry's eyes were wide open as he were taking in the information. He was taking it pretty well -- hadn't fallen back in shock, or collapsed into one of my parent's arms -- standing there on his own two feet. However, since everything is different then I wouldn't quite put it past Harry to faint.

"M-M-M-M-M-MM-M-mmaagical cats?" Harry repeated.

"They're called kneazles." I said.

Harry looked from me to daddy to dad and back again then rubbed his eyes trying to make sure if this were a dream. Daddy repeated what he had said then the boy's jaw fell so comically I can't even go on to say how amusing it was. On film, it would have become a relatable gif reaction shared on the internet.

"Can I get my own room?" Harry asked.

"Yes, you can, kiddo." Daddy said. "And we will sneak you in to get your Hogwarts equipment."

Dad twirled his wand at me then withdrew it.

"We'll take Robert with us." Dad said. "Shouldn't be too difficult."

"I consent to being part of this." I said feeling my grin becoming even wider.

"We look like twins." Harry said in a way that sounded quite touching then waved his hand. "Woah."

"Trippy, isn't it?" I asked.

"Very trippy. " Harry nodded.

"Come on, boys. I got some Galleons saved over to do this trip." Dad said. "Johnny, you take Harry. I will take Robert."

"Deal."

Daddy nodded then swished his wand at the young boy and the old set of clothing was replaced by more appealing clothing that consisted of a bright red sweater and black shorts that ended above his knees. Harry looked a this uniform in shock observing it quite taken back by the change. Daddy aimed his wand at the boy's shoes including his socks than in mere moments, he wore new socks and shoes. Dad flicked the lights off so Harry jumped back. Sounds emitted from his shoes causing him to stumble back then proceed to dance and we laughed.

"Harry, take my hand." Daddy requested.

Then we charged out of the building back to the entrance way leading to the house.

* * *

We visited Diagon Alley for the second time this month wandering around the area as Harry was given his school supplies. Dad and Daddy couldn't risk going to Gringotts or else Harry would be removed then sent off to somewhere worse than the Dursleys. The fear on the issue was enough to make me feel like I were walking on a glass wall above the pits of danger, disaster, tip toeing the way to safety. 

We spent the better part of the hours straying around Diagon Alley and it was much to observe the magical aspects of it going through the narrow tunnel that lead to another section of it. I looked around observing in the sky were several flying Wizards and Witches. It was strange to see that happening instead of drones filling the sky. This was the moment that made people and smile and grin. However, being a person who had seen this replicated in technological feats with people constructing their drones together and create a makeshift hovercycle it wasn't quite awe worthy for me. Dragon, perhaps. Talking lions, yes. Talking donkey, yes. Talking oger, yes.

"Hello,"

"Good evening,"

"I am selling novels."

I stared at the stranger with scars decorating his face, some old, some recent, with messy hair and worn clothes.

"Sorry, we are not here to buy."

"I insist, have a read! Just a moment of your time."

"Fine, just a read."

The man smiled then turned his attention upon the novels I searched through my memory banks and massive facial recognition data banks in my memory searching for a match. Had he appeared often in the Harry Potter series? If he hadn't -- which it was beginning to seem likely-- then I wouldn't have many scenes to extrapolate his face from, his voice, nor to compare any of his positions right now. Not many people in the Harry Potter series-built-on-tragedy-smiled-because-it-was-so-bleak-and-it-showed-plainly as the sun rays. 

I grasped the book then felt as though every molecule in my body were shifted to another lace, every atom, every organ, every cell, that nearly took the breathe out of me. I stumbled back dropping the novel and stared at it; _History of, Hogwarts._ I felt my body tremble as fear took over while my entire being felt as though it were shaking from top to bottom with my gaze on the floor feeling the contents of my stomach emptying down to the intestine track.

The man was a professor---there is only one professor's who name I hadn't quite forgotten but his face _was_ forgotten. The only face that had faded with time as it simply became dissolved, there was madame Hooch, Hagrid, the dwarf professor, Trelawney, Professor Snape, Professor Mcgonagall, Lockheart, Umbridge, the plant woman, the man who's memory had became so filmsly when displaying how Voldemort had found out about Horcruxes, Mad-Eye and Remus Lupin.

REMUS LUPIN BETRAYED HARRY POTTER INTO THE HANDS OF THE MAN WHO KNEW OF THE ABUSE THAT HE WOULD FACE? My mind screamed with the revelation. I felt my entire being being on fire. I lifted my gaze up as I was stumbling back looking on in horror toward that face -- prior to being recast --- standing before me and noticed there were Aurors around him as he looked upon me. As always, as Dumbledore had in the first film, he had that innocent/kind/mystical look to him with that long ass beard and someone wise. He wasn't wise. He was a stubborn dumb ass.

And beside that stubborn ass stood Remus Lupin. My foggy memory flickered to life became clear losing all the shittiness that entailed the lack of rewatching the film becoming painfully crystal clear. My hands clenched into fists as I stepped back feeling hurt. Being betrayed by a admirable fictional character who was on the good side didn't even remotely feel well. Hell, I would have expected this from Snape, the rat, and David Tenant's character. 

However; Harry Potter betrayed by Remus Lupin, the man with a disease that was a fantasy mirror of HIV, was _different_. Not really; he had betrayed a child. The mere image who had a second chance of having a better life and he didn't take him aside, tell me that he knew the Potters, and tell me that he were bringing me to a family that he knew very well which were better than the ones Harry had lived with for ten years.

I felt as though I had been stabbed in the back and sent down into a pit where my body had crushed into a million pieces against the rock but remained alive. God, it hurt. And I wanted to cry. I fought and I fought and I fought and I fought until the only feeling that I felt were disgust, rage, and hurt instead of distress. Remus's expression was the first to change once he saw me step back then squint. The kind of squint people make when they are getting the feeling that something is wrong, something is not right, something is off. Or, it could be his confusion in the image of Harry being disgusted.

"Harry Potter, we are very fortunate to see you alive and well." Dumbledore said.

"Harry, we are not going to hurt you."

"Not like they did." A familiar voice from beside him came -- _MOODY_ \-- and I smiled. "We won't let them."

"We have a wonderful family all picked out." Dumbledore said. "The Malfoys have agreed to allow your stay in their manor."

My smile faded as my attention shifted onto Dumbledore.

"I am not Harry Potter." I said, finally.

"What do you mean?" Remus asked.

"I am not Harry Potter." I repeated, raising my voice.

"Harry, this isn't fun and games." Moody said. "You can't deny who you are."

"Yes, yes." Dumbledore agreed with a nod as he stepped forward and his eyes were twinkling as my stomach twisted with disgust, hate, and upsetting feelings as the other Aurors stepped forward behind him. "That is who you are. You're not a Dursley."

"You're a Potter, Harry." Remus said.

I was revolted by the feeling of Remus's hand landing on my shoulder then screamed as I yanked myself out of his grip with my hands rolling into fists.

"I AM NOT HARRY POTTER!"

I could feel my head was hot, my heart racing, my eyes filled with tears as I saw my own image of respect for Remus go down the drain. It wasn't supposed to be this way. It wasn't supposed to be this way. I wasn't supposed to lose respect in the most admirable character in Harry Potter! I used to like him! My own scream echoed in my ears. It rung in my ears in a way that left me shaken.

I thought the Order of the Phoenix were full of some intelligent people who could get the rough idea that taking his suggestions of where to put Harry was a bad idea. My eyes were being stung by the tears at the distressing revelation; J.K Rowling wrote this to be a tragic, dark, and bleak world. It's not Remus's fault that he believes Dumbledore that it was a small mistake.

"Then who are you?" Moody asked as the room became incredibly more darker in mood.

I summoned up what was left of my composure, extended my chest, and lifted my chin up.

"My name is Robert Noori." I said. "Son of Charles Omaha Barfoot, Johnny Lee Barfoot."

"Revelio." Dumbledore said and the people around him gasped as Remus's eyes flashed open.

"Oh." Dumbledore said, softly.

I was glaring at the old man with righteous fury.

"I don't regret getting Harry out of that abusive house. I don't regret letting him into my family. I don't regret taking his place. I didn't think I would be disappointed along the way."

I turned away and began to walk on.

"Where is Harry Potter?" Dumbledore asked.

I was frozen in my steps, as if I had been charmed, then turned toward them.

"I don't know." I said.

"It is important that he is returned to us right this moment. He is distantly related to the Malfoys that have a drop of his blood left in their veins---"

"When did you ever care about Harry Potter more than a pawn that had to be killed at the right time?"

"Harry Potter is not a pawn." Dumbledore said. "My child, what do you know?"

"I have a shitty memory so don't ask me those questions." I bit back.

"What do you mean by shitty memory?" Dumbledore inquired.

I fell over laughing and laughing and laughing and laughing. I pointed a finger at the old geezer then flopped over landing on to my stomach, smacked my fists against the floor, terribly wrecked by the laughs. I could feel Dumbledore's eyes were glued on to me as I kept laughing. Who would have thought they would have heard Dumbledore, the manipulator who ruined lives, to say a swear word so casually? Eventually, I couldn't laugh no more and fell into the dark losing consciousness.

* * *

_The sun is rising up and down over a hill as though someone is playing a game of ping pong up and down using the earth as the field. It was quite consistent and entertaining with the passage of time being displayed in colors, seasons, and the change of the scenery. I watched as a sapling grew from a small plant into a tall tree that arched over a lake providing a home to birds of different species and squirrels that co-existed together in family units including a few crows. The tree was green even lively at best that had branches that arched out similar to a very old oak tree yet the sun was a consistent point of the tree's life cycle._

_Abruptly the sun came flying toward me growing larger and larger by the passing second._

_Until I could all but see that it wasn't a ball of heated gas but a mere golden ball with a moth like antenna._

_Then it hit me on the forehead._

* * *

"CLASSIC!" I cackled, my chest aching.

I flung myself forward with a laugh.

"You should stop laughing. If you do that too often then you will die after your recent episode of laughter."

This was a soft and easing voice. I looked toward my right spotting a woman with dark complexion, dark robes, all bearing a nurse outfit that seemed so retro in style, matched by a pointy hat that was decorate in glowing purple stars that were moving about the fabric. They reminded me of constellations that were dancing even notably the chair constellation, the draco constellation, the bear, and Hercules that I could spot.

"Huh."

"There is a recorded case of that happening in the Wizarding World. Not only in the Muggle World."

"That's interesting, Healer." I said. "I didn't know that. TIL I learned someone can die laughing."

"TIL?" The healer tilted her head.

"Today I learned." I elaborated.

"You are currently on potions that are helping your body recover very quickly from that laughing episode. You were laughing for twenty minutes." The healer informed me.

"Impressive." I said.

"What was it that caused you to laugh that much?" The healer asked.

"I made Headmaster Dumbledore say the word shit." I said.

The healer snickered.

"That _is_ a moment to laugh that long." the healer commented.

"I know, right?" I asked. "I didn't intend to do that."

"I can imagine." the healer said.

"How long have I been out?" I asked.

"Twelve hours. Really knocked you out for laughing." The healer gestured toward a table beside me. "You have a meal that is organized for your health."

"Alright."

"I detected severe lung damage."

"No."

"About eighty to ninety percent damage."

"No."

"I can fix that if you like to get rid of the long lasting damage."

"You can fix that?"

"Yes. I can. We have a potion for that and it is on your food tray."

My attention drifted toward the tray then back.

"Where am I in?"

"St Mungos."

"St Mungos, is it a magical hospital?"

"Yes."

"There isn't anything magical about laughing myself unconscious."

"The damage to your lungs is remarkable and very concerning. We cannot detect if it were done by magic or muggle means."

"It's a muggle thing. I have a therapist." I said. "I don't feel quite ready to talk about it to them."

"Take all the time that you need." The healer said, softly.

"I will."

The healer got up then walked from my cot. I looked aside spotting my uniform were on the chair beside me including the collection of food. It was a nice breakfast that was hardy and neat in all the forms that made a genuine prepared breakfast all the worthwhile to have. I slid the tray on to my lap with care then got on to eating them. I sighed, lowering my head, then rubbed my forehead. The feeling of disgust and betrayal had all but faded away from my stomach. I loomed over feeling the urge to puke then puked into the nearest bucket.

I fell back against the pillow; all those nasty relics of those feelings were gone and my stomach felt renew to have some new contents. I sat there for a good few minutes then smiled with a reflection that Harry was somewhere safe far from the reaches of the most manipulative wizard there ever was. With a few moments to myself, I resumed eating eating my breakfast then spotted a different healer come in.

"You have a gift." The new healer announced.

I took what appeared to be a bar of chocolate then crashed on to a table.

"Dad, pick better places for me to crash in for Allah's sake!" I whined.

Dad laughed.

"Did you finish breakfast?" Dad asked.

"Yes." I huffed as he helped me up. "Remus. . ."

"I know." Dad said.

"Where is Harry and Daddy?"

"Helping Matilda." Dad said. "We woke up early this morning and made him breakfast. You should have seen the look on his face when we beckoned him to join us at the table, he was so shocked." Dad frowned looking aside at the memory. "We told him that you were spending time with the Aurors."

"That's a good lie." I said. "I made Dumbedore say shit."

Dad chuckled.

"Robert, Scarface missed you." Dad said. "The cat kept standing in front of the door waiting for you after we came back."

I heard a loud mew echo in the house then turned my attention upon the large Kneazle running my way.

"SCAAAARFAAAACE!" I squealed.

Scarface leaped into the air then I caught into my arms.

"I missed you, buddy." I said.

"Robert, I got your clothes out for a shower." Dad said. "Cat time first."

I laughed then sat down into the chair and snuggled with the loudly purring Kneazle.


	7. Harry and the Barfoots

Matilda had made quite a meal that featured potato soup, crackers, and one long piece of carrot for both of us. The carrots were equally spiced -- which was evident with the aroma drifting off it -- set on the plate alongside the bowl. Harry had Scarface in his lap who he were cuddling with. I smiled, cupping the side of my face, leaning against the table.

"Robert, elbow off the table." Dad requested. "Scarface, get off."

"Meow."

"Harry has to eat, bugger!" Dad shook his spoon at the creature. "OFF! You're not licking his face while he eats!"

"Meow!"

"OFF," Dad ordered.

It almost seemed like the cat were pouting.

"Meow." Scarface leaped off Harry's lap then leaped to the rug.

"Awww, I was liking that." Harry said.

"You can cuddle with Scarface when you go to bed." I offered. "Nothing big, really. Having Scarface on my chest gives me the jeevies."

"What kind of nightmares?" Harry asked.

"The ones that you won't live through, hopefully since you're a Wizard." I said, then shuddered at the potential thought that he would be inflicted with difficulty breathing for days at a time and be unable to eat.

"Speaking of being a Wizard." Daddy said, as he slipped in the pointed end of the carrot into his bowl then took a small bite out of the soaked bit. "Mmmhmm! Delicious, Matilda!"

"You're welcome, Master John." Matilda said.

"Now, as I were saying," Daddy said. "There is a pointed hat that gets put on every Witch and Wizard's head then sorts children into houses based on their character. You can be a researcher, like Mr Spock, and get sorted into Ravenclaw. You can be a craftsman and be sorted into Hufflepuff. You can be a whistleblower and be sorted into Gryffindor. You can be a spy and be sorted into Slytherin."

"There are four houses, Harry. Slytherin, Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, and Ravenclaw." Dad said. "John's take on it is rather accurate,"

"All of them a good house." Daddy said.

"Except Slytherin as of recently." I said. 

"That pure blooded ideals have corrupted the house. It was a good house. Cunning, intelligent, self reliant, strong leaders---Now it's a house full of fucking racists!"

"Charles!" Daddy exclaimed.

"Your house deserved much better!" Dad exclaimed. "At least Ravenclaw had few Death Eaters. Only one." Dad tipped his carrot into the soup then took a small bite out of it and munched it. "My house still stands as good and all."

"Ravenclaw is where the bookworms go to, Gryffindor is where the people who protest and explore possibilities, Slytherin is. . . where leaders are made, and Hufflepuffs are a bit like miniature Aurors." I rreiterated. "In the Wizarding world, that's probably the most appropriate way of determining the houses by."

"If Slytherin is where leaders are made then why is it full of racists?" Harry asked.

"Pure blooded. Those born to Wizards. Not to muggles." Daddy grimaced, as the mood grew dark, Dad squeezed his hand so he looked toward him quite sorrowfully. Daddy cleared his throat before continuing on. "They think people like your mother were a stain, a intruder, someone who didn't belong in the Wizarding world."

"My mother?" Harry asked.

"She was a muggle born." Dad said. "She was a Muggle teacher before the war ended. Before she had to hide from the Dark Lord."

"Does he have a name?" Harry asked.

"Yes."

"His name was Voldemort." Dad said, gravely. "He was the Donald J Trump of our era."

"That muggle terrorized communities, seeped hate against people who weren't white or straight, dehumanized people, he infected the justice system, put in supreme court justices that sided with him, replaced dozens of judges with his own with one fell swoop, fired lots of good people and replaced them with lackeys, blackmailed the republicans to acquitting him, and last of all, he ignored a upcoming pandemic. He brought hate to the television screen, encouraged his supporters to attack people and kill people."

Daddy sighed, lowering his head, trembling as Dad leaned forward then put a hand on his shoulder.

"And they did." Dad said.

"Most of the shooters in the future were Trump Supporters." Daddy said. "It was almost always a white man. And he was listed in at least one manifesto by one them. I think it was the New Zealand shooter?"

Dad nodded.

"And guess what?" Daddy continued.

"What?" Harry asked.

"He streamed it LIVE." Daddy said. "Gunning down people. It was trending on the internet for hours. Eventually, the New Zealand government proceeded to prosecute anyone who retweeted it. They banned the weapon used by the shooter."

"Good riddance." Dad said.

"Streamed?" Harry asked. "Are you talking about a river streaming in a stream?"

"Harry, we're not from here." Dad said, calmly, as we froze in our seats as Daddy recognized his error. "We somehow time traveled from another world where magic isn't real."

"Okay." Harry said.

"Okay?" Daddy asked, concerned.

"Not stunned, angry, confused, or at least interested why we're determined on making sure you stay out of the Auror's hands?" Dad asked, puzzled.

Harry shrugged.

"I like to see that people care about me enough to do that." Harry admitted.

I was the first to get out of the chair then approach Harry. Daddy came second and Dad was the third. "Matilda, please be part of this family hug." and Matilda appeared as requested. We hugged the bony boy with care and I am not ashamed to say that I cried a little. My decision to be part of the effort that Harry had the best August in the world became the more solidified. And I wasn't quite surprised to see that Harry was smiling from ear to ear.

Eventually, we broke apart from the hug and returned to our seats.

"And I know which house Robbie is going into." Daddy said.

"Oh, what house?" I asked.

"Slytherin." Dad said with a grin.

"Dad, Daddy, no." I declined.

Dad and Daddy laughed.

"Joking." His shoulder shook as he stirred the noodles in the pan. "He is a Hufflepuff, through and through, he isn't the type to be a leader. He is a co-worker person."

I laughed.

"Speaking of co-workering. . ." Daddy said. "We're going to visit Godric's hollow and see if we can fix it up."

"What about this place?" Harry asked.

"It'll be the work house for Dragon Sanctuary." Dad said.

"That can work." Daddy said.

"And we're going to need a secret keeper." Dad said.

"What's a secret keeper?" Harry asked.

"Someone who keeps a secret, Harry."

"I can keep the secret!" I insisted. "We have so little people to trust. We don't know if we can trust Remus Lupin. He is part of the new Order of the Phoenix."

"That hasn't been established yet!" Daddy protested.

"You can trust me!" I insisted.

"Robbie. . ." Daddy said.

"Remus is loyal to Dumbledore, he would tell them in a heart beat." I said.

"You don't know him." Dad said.

I glared back at them and they grimaced sulking in the chairs.

"Fathers, we're living in the world made by a well known Neo-Death Eater that is built on tragedy." I reminded them then we all looked upon Harry who was sipping from his spoon.

"Harry, what do you have to say about this?" Daddy asked.

Harry looked up from his meal.

"I haven't had the opportunity to overhear a discussion about me in a long time." Harry said. "About making sure that I am safe and loved. Robert didn't slip about my where abouts so I would vote on him if this were a voting session."

"Harry, this is your choice." Dad said. "Making sure that you have a place to come back to and stay at for the summer until . . ."

"Next term." Daddy finished.

"So it is not a vote." Harry noted.

"It isn't." I confirmed.

"Then I pick Robert." Harry said.

"I accept it." I said.

"We'll do this in the morning." Daddy said. "It's a complicated spell, you need to sleep on it. We all need to sleep on it "

A knock echoed from the house.

"Darling, may I use. . ." Dad requested.

"Use the repetition spell over them." Daddy replied as Dad grinned. "It'll take them _ages_ just to find out which one of them is Harry."

Dad waved his wand at us, his lips barely moving, casting a dozen so spells in a little over two minutes, then he smiled getting up to his feet. Daddy got up from the table then made his way to the front door of the house with slow steps taking his time. Harry and I followed after Daddy as Dad remained behind us with his wand at the ready. Daddy came to the front door of the house then turned the knob and slid the door open.

"Remus."

"Bearfoot."

"It's a bad idea keeping Harry."

"Bad idea? Wasn't that what you said that the 'bright' order did in order to win? Ideas that Voldemort would have considered once and decided you weren't that stupid to do."

"Harry has to be living with relatives. If a member of the Death Eaters come--"

"Then LET them come. We prefer to die protecting him then giving him away to the Malfoys. The Death Eaters aren't as robust as they used to be."

"But some still linger. Like . . ."

"Like who?"

"Like moles that you can't get rid of."

"Remus, do you know why Werewolves are stereotyped the way they are in the public mind?"

"Terrible bed time stories."

"No, Moony. Is that what James called you?" Remus nodded. "They got their backstabbing reputation by _betrayal._ Get out of my sight."

"John, they're going to come. I will tell them."

"Then they will find a abandoned house. We _were_ planning on moving anyway."

"Harry. . ."

"Remus, get off my doorstep and don't show your face around me ever again."

"Bearfoot, you don't---"

"James once said you were the person who would never betray his son if something happened to him. Well, we just saw how wrong he was."

Daddy's words were more disappointed, ashamed, and angry than I had ever heard from him. It was the kind of angry that I had only seen from him a handful of times and had only a couple of times seen for myself. I knew then it was serious in every single format. He never spoke this way to people that he cared about. Hardly ever. Well, he did a couple of times when it turned out his old friends were Trump Supporters. There was silence from Remus as I could tell that he looked hurt by the comment.

"We don't want you in my life or our life until Harry is old enough to decide on his own. I thought you were better than that."

Daddy closed the door and locked it with a sigh.

"John." Dad said.

Daddy leaned his forehead against the door as dad joined him then put a hand on his shoulder.

"Harry, let's go eat." I advised.

"That went better than how I thought it would be." Harry said.

"It could have been worse." I said as we returned to the dining room. "A hell lot worse."

* * *

Harry's screaming woke us all up in the middle of the night. It was a scream that I had only vaguely remembered making myself when I was his age the first time I came back from a place of peace that became a place of war. I found Dad and Daddy resting alongside Harry in their matching ridiclously bright pink night robes as they were in the middle of soothing him. Harry was trembling like a leaf between them as Scarface laid in his lap rubbing their head underneath the boy's chin then prancing about rubbing their back underneath his chin.

"It's okay, boi." Dad said. "We're here, no one is going to hurt you, not in a million years.'

"I wasn't dreaming of being hurt." Harry protested.

"Then what did you dream about?" Dad asked.

"I dreamed about a man and a woman screaming, a man in a dark cloak aim his wand at me, then there was a green nasty light that came toward me; the one that took down my mum." Harry looked up toward them with frankly scared features. "W-w-w-w-w-wwas that a spell?"

"It was a unforgivable curse." Daddy said. "A dark curse."

"Those people, the people you heard screaming, those were your parents." I said. "They died in every movie they were in. Same scene, over and over, and over, until Goblet of Fire and The Deathly Hollows pt 2."

"And the magical photographs were they were happy together." Dad said.

"Their sacrifice was filmed repeatedly?" Harry asked.

"Yes." Daddy nodded, gravely,

"There is at least two flash back scenes. . . no, three maybe?" Dad squinted, looking off, looking back then shook in his head. "In all of them, you were wearing a different baby outfit."

"I recall in one you looked at least two years old." I said.

"That is silly." Harry said. "Revisiting the same scene over and over? Yes, they sacrificed themselves. But, why weren't there any flashback scenes for them?"

We exchanged a glance then shrugged.

"The writer was focused on going forward than going backwards." Daddy theorized. "Or, they didn't have a single clue of what to write before they went into hiding, before they sacrificed for you, or thought of scenes where they were being fighters. They just wanted them to be remembered as your parents who performed a act of love."

"I would have liked to know them." Harry sniffled.

"Charles," Daddy said. "Do we still have the Pensieve?"

"Uh, yes." Dad said. "It's in the basement." Dad slipped his wand out of his side pocket then lifted it up. "Accio Pensieve."

I saw a bowl with a base float into the room then watched as Daddy extracted a memory from the side of his temple as his eyes glowed a gentle blue. The bowl was set between them as Scarface crept up to Harry's shoulder. Daddy pointed toward the bowl motioning for Harry to put his head in. With some hesitation, looking back and forth, Harry put his head into the pensieve. Scarface leaped into Daddy's arms then set down in the form of a loaf of bread formation and was promptly petted. A few short minutes later, Harry yanked his head out of the pensieve with a big smile on his face and a look of gratitude.

"Tomorrow, we are going hiking in New Zealand. Would you like that, Harry?"

Harry nodded.

"I never been hiking." Harry said. "Is it any good?"

"It's fun." I said. "New Zealand is where they are going to film most of the Lord of the Rings and the Hobbit at. You get to walk the paths that Boromir, Aragorn, Gimli, Legolas, and Gandalf, Mary, Pippin, Sam, and Bilbo Baggins takes."

"You mean Frodo and Bilbo." Daddy said.

"That, too." I grinned with a nod. "And Thorin Oakenshield and his company."

"And you will be just as awesome as they were." Dad said.

"In seven years, when you're ready to fight for Wizarding world against the man that killed your parents." I said. "We'll make sure you're ready."

"We promise." Daddy said. 

"Do you feel like you want to sleep alone tonight, Harry?" I asked.

"No." Harry said.

"Family movie night!" Dad announced. "Neverending story, Princess Bride, or the Goonies?"

"THE NEVERENDING STOORRRRY!" Daddy and I sang. "Dah na na. Make believe I'm everywhere. I'm hidden in the lines. Written on the pages. Is the answer to a neverending story."

"What are those films?" Harry asked.

Dad picked up Harry into his arms, Kneazle in arms, with a look of defiance. I hurried down the stairs then went to the shelf that was full of movies and copies of the same movies. I extracted the VCR case belonging to the Never Ending Story from the shelf then slid it out from beneath the casing. I slipped the film into the slot then pressed play and leaped onto the couch. Daddy came back from the basement after taking care of the pensieve device then cooked some popcorn as Harry was set down beside me and Matilda appeared in a buttoned up dark blue cardigan and a strange hat that reminded me of what Mary Poppins wore.

"Does Matilda have ears or a nasty scar?" I asked.

"No, she just likes the hat that I bought one Halloween to dress up as Martin Poppins and Charles as Bert." Daddy said.

"What's Mary Poppins?" Harry asked.

"That is it! This upcoming day isn't about hiking," Dad became angry as Harry flinched. "This is about educating a young boy about the finer points of Muggle Entertainment." Roughly, Dad set the bowl of popcorn into Harry's lap and Scarface curled around it. "Besides, we can do the hiking tomorrow night. It is more _magical_ at night in New Zealand."

"The movie is starting," I announced, abruptly.

"Harry, when the song starts, you can sing." Daddy said.

"Any time?" Harry asked. "You won't get angry?"

"Not angry at all." Daddy confirmed with a nod.

We became silent focusing on the screen and that is when I finally took the time to notice the screen wasn't a four foot square screen as part of a wooden frame with drawers, shelves, and antenna; it was a bloody eight-five inch wide screen television set that was hooked into the wall. Dad waved his wand in mid-air aiming at the television then the screen as did the contents of it.

"Turn around," I started to sing

"And look at what you seeee." Daddy's singing drawled on. 

"There you'll have your dreaaaaam." Dad said.

"Make believe I'm everywhere. . ." Harry's voice sang along softly.

* * *

Three days were gone in a instant with family time and being protective over Harry Potter that came with its own fair entertainment. Harry was safe around us in the most innocent that he could not be taken away if no one bothered to ask about it. I felt ready to talk about the disease that had taken my life, my parents lives, and hundreds of thousands of people. And the whole ceremony behind the secret keeper was done with little fanfare, a lot of confirmation that I would keep Harry's place of living safe, all with, "I consent" to each question laid in Spanish and Latin.

I was pained by the thought that it could be taking down two hundred thousand lives by the end of the year in 2020, it couldn't be feasible, it could only be feasible that the death count would be one hundred ninety-two thousand lives died from a misinformation campaign launched by Resident of the White House and Fox News that masks restricted free speech -- a bit like the virus called the Spanish Flu, called Spanish Flu because the Spanish reported it because America refused to cover it and show that they were weak -- to a virus that took away more lives than those who died in any known and accounted for War waged by America combined.

And I noted that Gerald wore a face mask.

"I am---"

"What did you mean by Dumbledore grooming Harry to be a Martyr earlier?"

I closed my mouth.

"It's all mute right now." I shrugged.

"No, I like to hear it." Gerald said. "It's all over the world by now."

"Dumbledore knew that Harry was being abused." I said.

Gerald crumbled his notepad then adjusted his glasses and leaned back with a smile that was easy to see in his eyes.

"Why don't you change the ending?" Gerald asked as he crossed a leg over his knee.

"Pardon?" I raised my brows.

"Change the ending." Gerald repeated.

"To what?" I lowered my brows and furrowed them together, _this nut case must be loco if he is suggesting what I think that he is suggesting!_

"The world that you knew of." Gerald repeated.

I felt the blood drain from my head at the mere implication that he was making, the muggle world or the wizarding world? I was too afraid to ask which but I had a feeling which one that he were referring to.

"That is _against_ the Prime Directive." I said.

"You are part of this world, are you not?" Gerald asked.

"I am." I confirmed.

"Then do your part." Gerald said.

"I can't." I said.

"Why not, Robert?"

"I have a rule about _that_."

"Rule? Were you given these rules?"

"I made the rules up by myself, Mr White. To protect me and my family."

Gerald looked aside with a hum then shifted his attention on to me.

"You sent the letter, didn't you?"

"Me?" I put my hand on my chest. "I didn't. But that is insidious to accuse a child of losing the boy-who-lived of disturbing his house life!"

Gerald sighed then took a sip of water and lowered it down to the table.

"You care very much about the boy who lived." Gerald said. "And it isn't insidious. It's quite a good thing to get a child out of a place that was hurting him."

"Yeah." I admitted. "I do."

"So, you are impacting his life greatly." Gerald said.

I laughed.

"My parents are. Not myself." Gerald turned toward me, his eyes flashed open. "Patient-client privilege." I smiled back at him quite devilish. "Long as I stay out of his path in Hogwarts then my parents should be safe."

"You care very dearly about them." Gerald slowly noted. "They can take care of themselves."

"I did my best to make sure that they didn't die by the same thing I did and _I failed_." I looked down toward my hands as the memory of hugging my parents fourteen days before their admission to the hospital was ringing in my mind. My hands were trembling as they became closed. I closed my head and folded my arms, lowering my head, then sighed. "This is something I can control. Long as I don't get attention then we should be safe."

Gerald hummed.

"Robert, why is it better off that Sirius Black be dead instead of alive?" Gerald asked.

"Sixteen years ago where I am from, there was a film released called Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban. That's where Sirius Black made his debut. He was in Azkaban for _twelve year_ s." I closed my eyes with a wince at the thought of it happening and the world being as miserable as I had seen it. I opened my eyes as I sighed facing my attention upon the older man. "Then a year or two later after escaping, he died right before Harry's eyes as I described."

I leaned back into the chair as the silence carried between us and felt the weight fall off my chest.

"It broke Harry that day." I finished. "Wasn't really the same afterwards." I twirled my finger in mid-air leaning against the arm rest of the chair. "Got a bit of a 'saving-everyone' hero complex going on there."

Gerald's features fell.

"Really, all that innocence, optimism, hope---the series after that became tainted, sorrowful, sad, and bleak. That isn't what I purchased my movie ticket for. That isn't what we all came for. We came to see him struggle, rays of hope, Harry gaining happiness along the way, and see the wonders of the Wizarding World."

"And?"

"We saw a terrible war. It was worse than how Twilight concluded."

"Twilight?"

"Vampires. It was all hyped and pumped for in the books and--instead, it became a sour disappointment. We had The Inheritance Cycle that was satisfying, so, that's better than the Wizarding World with its flaws, its darkness, and the worthwhile journey."

"What about this journey?"

"It's worth my while."

"You say it has been sixteen years since the film that he were debuted in . . . How long ago was Harry Potter made?"

"The film? Oh, twenty years ago."

"Twenty years ago . . ." Gerald stared at me. "So you must be. . ."

"Forty-one." I said. "I died in 2020." Then I frowned. "Hey, aren't we supposed to be talking about me?"

"Yes, but this is more interesting." Gerald said as he leaned forward. "What else do you know?"

"The Philosopher's Stone, The Chamber of Secrets, the Prisoner of Azkaban, The half-blood prince, The Goblet of Fire, The Deathly Hollows---I am missing a seventh book. What is it?"

"Oh, is it the film where Sirius Black died? Harry Potter and the Godfather?"

I frowned then searched through my mind only to come back with no results.

"No, that would have been too memorable, Mr White." I lowered my head down with a pout facing the floor. "Can't have been that."

"Sounds to me that you are blocking out the title as that it existed."

I lifted my attention up toward him.

"But I recall there were seven books." I replied.

"Yes, you don't block that out." he slanted his left finger to his left hand that was leaned against the arm rest of the wooden chair. "Surely, it seems that you acknowledge there are seven books but one of them is just a piece of bad literature."

I stared at the man; d _id he really want me to say it? It seems like he wants me to say it. So I better say it._

"Oh, you mean bad fanfiction?"

Gerald blinked for a few moments then nodded and smiled.

"That is what I mean." Gerald confirmed. "Speaking of which, have you read any--"

The machine buzzed.

"Time is up!" I leaped from my chair, gleefully.

Gerald looked toward the machine with a frown.

"That's not right. We started not just fifteen--" he stopped then turned toward me. "Was that accidental magic or was that intentional?"

"Do I look like I know how to control my magic?" I asked with a shrug feeling anger at the accusation boiling up then the glass around me shattered. "Bye!"

I opened the door and made a bolt for it rejoining my parents.

"Dad, Daddy, how about Harry attends Ilvermorny?" I asked. "Hogwarts is a war zone, Ilvermorny is far away from the rise of Voldemort."

"Not bad of a idea." Daddy said. "I have a friend in MACUSA that can help us with the paperwork in Harry's duel citizenship."

"Hm," Dad said. "That would mean Harry has to spend some time in America."

I saw them sport grins then turn toward my direction, clasp their hands on my shoulder, looking upon me proudly.

"That is the best idea that you have had." Dad said. "Did your therapist let you out early because of what you told him about Remus kidnapping you while you were transfigured as Harry?"

"Nope." I said as we left.

Yet, I could feel a pair of shocked eyes gazing my way.

"Good." Dad said. "We're going to be just fine. Son, what about Hogwarts?"

"You already sent the gold to it," I said. "I see no issue in attending, I won't be part of canon."

We laughed, exiting the building, then side-alonged between my fathers with Harry beside me transfigured as a small brown dog.


End file.
